30 Days of Fatlock Challenge- Completed!
by Aris24
Summary: Sherlock needs a good disguise for a case at the local fitness club. And not just any disguise. He's determined that his only convincing cover is to put on quite a bit of weight. But as the days go on, it becomes apparent that the case may not be the only reason that Sherlock is keen to experiment with gaining. Johnlock with weight gain, belly stuffing, and fat appreciation kinks.
1. Days 1 & 2

_**Author's Note: This challenge is a set of 30 prompts as proposed by bumbumshaky and fatlock on tumblr. I've been posting a new entry every day on my tumblr but will sometimes be uploading days as some are continuations of the previous days. Hope you enjoy!  
**_

_**The Challenge:**_

_**Day 1: What is your favourite fatlock pairing to fatten up?**_

_**Day 2: Who likes to fatten whom up?**_

* * *

_**Day 3: Mutual gaining?**_

* * *

_**Day 4: Measurement and weigh in.**_

_**Day 5: Tummy kisses.**_

* * *

_**Day 6: A fight (made up with sexy times and/or food)**_

_**Day 7: What about babies?**_

* * *

_**Day 8: How did the weight gain happen? (Suggested by one partner, by accident, for a case, etc.?)**_

_**Day 9: New set of clothes.**_

* * *

_**Day 10: A day of stuffing.**_

_**Day 11: Favourite food/s to stuff with?**_

* * *

_**Day 12: Trying on old clothes.**_

_**Day 13: Going out for the day.**_

_**Day 14: (Cute) nicknames for the gainer?**_

* * *

_**Day 15: FREE**_

_**Day 16: Keeping a picture diary.**_

* * *

_**Day 17: Meeting old friends/family.**_

_**Day 18: Popping a button.**_

_**Day 19: Unintentional gain?**_

_**Day 20: Highest amount of weight gain for a pairing?**_

* * *

_**Day 21: Waddle-comments.**_

_**Day 22: Christmas dinner.**_

_**Day 23: Honeymoon.**_

_**Day 24: Love goes through the stomach.**_

_**Day 25: AU!**_

_**Day 26: Birthday present.**_

_**Day 27: All-you-can-eat.**_

_**Day 28: Holidays.**_

_**Day 29: Tummy rubs.**_

_**Day 30: Sexy times.**_

_**Day 1: What is your favourite fatlock pairing to fatten up? Johnlock.**  
_

"No, really. No more questions, yeah I know he was spectacular but you can try to find him some other time. Right now, he needs to rest and eat a proper meal. I'm his doctor. It's my say, goodnight!"

John laughed aloud with exhilaration as he leaned, panting, against the door that he had just slammed in the faces of the reporters that had been lying in wait for Sherlock to return from the party they'd crashed earlier that evening. Sherlock had successfully exposed one of the daughter's potential suitors as a wanted jewel thief… and then caused even more of an uproar when he deduced and proved that the young woman was involved in the schemes herself.

"Blimey, news travels fast!" John chortled.

Sherlock himself gave John a slow smile, looking really quite exhausted, his curls escaping one at a time from their earlier slicked back style. John felt an odd surge of fondness for the man.

"At least one of the photographers outside was posing as a waitress at the party," the detective rumbled, "We weren't the only unexpeted guests there tonight." He gave a small laugh of his own. "Though I'm sure half the guests were tweeting my every word. Yes, the Yard will undoubtedly have Mr. Yale and Miss Waters in custody by tomorrow. Job well done, I'd say."

"Yeah, case solved," agreed John, drawing in a long contented breath and heading up the stairs, "You were brilliant! I can't believe you worked all that out just by looking at her shoes." Now what they both needed was a good rest and a cup of tea. Maybe some takeaway in a few hours when the journalists had given up.

Sherlock followed John, a small shyish smile gracing his lips. "Thank you. But you were brilliant too. I wouldn't have thought to consider her had you not noticed the clear connection Miss Waters and Mr. Yale had for one another. I had underestimated her."

John chuckled. "Yeah, well, you know. Girlfriends aren't really your area."

"No…"

That was a very odd tone of voice.  
And that was a very odd glint in Sherlock's eye when John turned and looked back behind him on the stair. Sherlock's eyes corrected their gaze and flicked up to John's. John blinked. Sherlock flushed minutely. John knew that action anywhere. He felt something warm drop into his stomach.

"Sherlock, were you…"

"Hard not to, your arse was at my eye level. And those trousers are quite well tailored." Now the detective was definitely blushing.

John laughed. "Oh, God, you really were," he said, feeling amazed, "I didn't think you-"

"I don't," said Sherlock, looking away, then adding quietly, "At least, not very often. I'm sorry. Please just forget it happened, I'm tired and my mind is weakened."

"Sherlock, that's not- I'm sorry. I shouldn't tease you. I don't mind. It's all fine, remember?" John licked his lips, feeling his heart flutter.

Sherlock's head snapped back up and John felt as though he was being x-rayed.

"Oh…" said Sherlock, a smirk perching itself on his lips.

"Hm, wondered how long it'd be until you noticed," said John, stepping down a step or two so they were at the same height.

Sherlock seemed to sway just ever so slightly closer. John wondered briefly if that was due more to hunger or nerves.

"'Not gay'?" he purred silkily, and John felt himself shiver as that voice softly rushed over him.

"Er, not exactly."

"Good."

And then John was quite quickly learning exactly what those plush lips felt like pressed against his own, and God, he needed more, so much more.

He slid out his tongue to taste and Sherlock's mouth parted, inviting him in. Jesus… And then there was a curious press of teeth and hot slick tongue tentatively returning. He felt Sherlock waver again and he pulled away.

Sherlock blinked, his eyes glassy. "John?"

"Christ, what are we doing? You haven't eaten in over 48 hours!"

Sherlock snorted and let his head drop to the doctor's shoulder. "It's fine John, I've gone longer. I'm okay for a bit."

"Like hell you are," said John, looking down at him, "I'll be damned if I let you perish now. Come on. You get some rest on the sofa and I'll order us some Chinese. Doctor's orders."

Sherlock smiled softly and straightened. "Alright then. Only a fool argues with his doctor." He leaned in to kiss John gently once more.

_**Day 2: Who likes to fatten whom up? John likes to fatten Sherlock, but Sherlock does appreciate a soft warm John belly to cuddle up to.**_

Once Sherlock and John had broken up their most recent snog, John had indeed made good on his word. He steered Sherlock resolutely to the sofa, then called their favorite place down the street. It wasn't long before John tramped up the stairs once again, though this time bearing several cartons heavy with Chinese food. Sherlock felt his stomach curl into a knot at the smell. It seemed all together too rich and nowhere near rich enough at once. He groaned and slid his hands down to press into his middle.

"Hungry?" John asked sympathetically, sitting down and putting the cartons onto the table. He dug out Sherlock's shrimp and peapods and a pint of white rice, then added a carton loaded with spring rolls.

"Starving," said Sherlock, his eyes glassy and hands shaking as he reached out to take the food John had brought. He picked up his utensils and then selected his first bite, a beautifully green peapod in a thick white sauce. He lifted it to his lips, feeling his hunger building. He slipped it past his lips, still trembling. His eyes slid closed and flavor exploded across his tongue. Salty, delicious, a bit sweet, thick, sticky, crisp, slightly bitter, and just wonderfully wonderfully _edible_ food filled his mouth as he chewed. He swallowed and gasped as his hunger seemed only to intensify. Sherlock's eyes flew open and he began shoveling the lot into his mouth. Tender succulent shrimp. crisp fresh water chestnuts, sharply sweet onions, and the more subdued peapods joined each other in Sherlock's belly. He paused to dump a large portion of rice on top of the food to soak up some of the thick salty sauce, then resumed eating with gusto.

John watched in awe. His own Hunan chicken was sorely neglected. God, how hungry the poor bloke must be. And really why wouldn't he be? John reminded himself that the git hadn't eaten in almost three days. He slide the box of spring rolls closer, hopeful that the detective would deem them worthy of providing nourishment.

A long-fingered hand shot out to take one and carry it swiftly to plump and pinkening lips.

John chuckled softly. "God, good thing we got that case sorted. You look like you need some feeding up."

Sherlock grunted, swallowing a monstrous mouthful before looking back at John.

"Hmm. Perhaps. I might let you."

"Let me what?"

"Feed me up. Obviously. You told me that's what girlfriends are supposed to do, I assume boyfriends can fill that role as well?" More food.

"Oh, er, yeah. So that means we are...?"

"We kissed," said Sherlock through another mouthful of spring roll as if that explained everything.

John grinned. "Yeah, we did," he said wonderingly.

"That's settled then. We both find each other attractive, both mentally and physically and have formed a closeness due to prolonged proximity."

"S'pose so, yeah," said John with a chuckle. How romantic. He was still watching Sherlock positively inhaling the carton of Chinese. Sherlock noticed his doctor's gaze and glanced at John's as yet barely touched dinner.

"Am I putting you off?" he asked.

"What? No, not at all. I'm just glad to see you eating, that's all," said John.

"Hmm," said Sherlock, sitting up a bit more, "Well, you might get to enjoy that a bit more in future. I'm looking into a possible case. I'll need a good cover and a convincing disguise. I can never seem to grow more than a light scruff, and it drives me mad anyway. I thought gaining a few pounds might help me in that regard. What with that party recently my face has been in the papers quite a bit too often recently."

"Oh, er. Alright then," said John, chewing his lower lip, "I think I can help with that. I'll try to make sure it's somewhat healthy. I can talk to-"

"No..." drawled Sherlock in his 'bored' tone, before giving John a kinder look, "No time. I'll let you know more once I know for certain what the job will entail. But I'm foreseeing many more hearty meals in my near future. You may get to add some meat to my bones yet." He chuckled. "But for now, please eat, John. I can't have you going hungry while I feast."

John huffed a laugh and rolled his eyes. Still he speared a bit of his chicken on his fork and raised it to Sherlock in a toast.

"Cheers!" he said, and popped it into his mouth. He still couldn't quite keep from looking on as Sherlock resumed eating. The idea of a fuller, softer Sherlock was... enticing to say the least. And now with the man's permission, he was keen on taking full advantage of this opportunity.


	2. Day 3

_**Day 3: Mutual Gaining? I tend to prefer the feeder staying relatively slim, but a bit of pudge never hurt anyone, least of all John Watson :)**_

A few weeks (and many more meals) later found Sherlock and John spooning lazily in bed. It had become their preferred way to spend a lazy Sunday morning after getting together. A rigorous round of sex to sharpen the appetite, then a sumptuous full English followed by a return to the bedroom for a dozy cuddle under the covers.

This Sunday's routine had been hardly any different and so the two lovers were comfortably entwined, Sherlock's leg draped over John's that had been stuck between the detective's. John might prefer to top during their more physical activities, but now he was quite content with being the little spoon as he lay curled against Sherlock's warm enveloping presence, feeling warm breath gusting at the nape of his neck. The ex army doctor grinned and shivered pleasantly at the sensation, wriggling his bum back into Sherlock's groin. He was awarded with a faint gasp next to his ear. Really the man was endearingly sensitive to any sort of touch. But then perhaps that wasn't so surprising considering how little thought Sherlock seemed to devote to that sort of thing on a day to day basis. John smirked and pressed himself further back, feeling what he had termed Sherlock's adorable little starter belly pressing warm and full from breakfast against his lower back. "Hmm," hummed John with satisfaction, still moving back against the warm taught flesh.

Sherlock muffled a small burp. John giggled.

"Still full?" he teased.

"How could I not be?" grumbled Sherlock, but John could practically hear the smile that formed the words, "I must have ingested nearly an entire pig's worth of bacon and sausage."

"Oh? Well, that's a good start then," answered John cheekily, reaching back to grab at Sherlock's slightly fleshier side. The detective gave a rumbling chuckle of his own and drew his arms around John's waist. Sherlock had proven himself to be a highly tactile and affectionate lover when he wasn't distracted by other things. John smiled, content to drift off once again, but then Sherlock's hand slid over John's stomach and _squeezed._

John felt his face flush.

"Er..." he began, turning his head to look at Sherlock. The man simply purred and nuzzled further into John's neck.

"You've got a good start too," he puffed against John's neck, voice low and rumbling through John's ribcage. His fingers kneaded the gathering softness at his doctor's navel, "Mm..."

John felt more heat rise to his cheeks. "B-but I'm not- Sherlock!"

Any further protest was promptly turned to a series of low groans and gasps as Sherlock kissed all the way down John's back, pausing to nibble just above the waist band of his pants. Then those were gone. And Sherlock kept kissing.

Well, John reasoned, they did say sex was an excellent way to burn calories.


	3. Days 4 & 5

_**Day 4: Measurement and Weigh in**_

"Hurry up, John! How long can it take to find a simple tape measure," barked Sherlock excitedly. He was shirtless, dressed only in a pair of quite tight navy pants, and positively quivering with suppressed energy.

"Hang on! Got it!" called John as he finished rummaging at the bottom of the man's closet for a sewing kit he didn't know they owned. John wondered if Sherlock had lifted it from Mrs. Hudson's flat at some point, but then it was sleek and black and nowhere near flowery enough so Sherlock must have bought it himself. John emerged victorious, holding the measuring tape out.

"Fantastic," said Sherlock, looking like a kid on Christmas morning. "And you have the notebook? Good, perfect, yes." He snatched the tape measure from John's fingers and then drew it around his waist. John watched appreciatively, noting the soft rounding of tum that had settled itself comfortably around the detective's middle. The weight was definitely settling low, around the man's hips and bum and lower belly. The hip bones that had been cutting into John's back as they laid together were growing padded and comfortable, the shoulder blades shifting under soft skin with grace and strength. Even the man's ribs weren't so prominent anymore.

"John? Did you get that?"

"Oh, sorry," said John, tearing his eyes away from the filling figure before him. He quickly jotted down the number, then grinned. "Not bad. Almost two inches more than last time."

Sherlock looked pleased and slid the measure lower to measure his thighs. John wasn't at all surprised that Sherlock had gained another solid (or should that be soft?) two inches there. The swell of the man's arse could hardly tell a different tale.

"Right," said Sherlock, running his hands down his body to pat and grab at the bit of chub he was cultivating. He gave it a playful jiggle and John lost track of what he was supposed to be doing again.

Sherlock stepped onto the bathroom scale and John held his breath. The detective, however, frowned.

"What's the matter?" asked John, standing and going to look down at the number, "Sherlock, you're up almost 10 pounds! That's incredible! And now you're more than a stone past your starting weight."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and blew out a breath as if John were being thick. "It's so _slow_, John," he grumbled, "I thought I would have gone up at least another 15 since the last measurement. This is intolerable." John watched the trademark Sherlock pout come into play as the man prodded at his stomach. The doctor somehow doubted he could sulk another five pounds onto his frame, though Sherlock seemed to be giving it a good try.

"Look, it's natural to take a bit of time to gain weight. People don't just blow up overnight," said John with a small chuckle.

"But how can not have gained more when I've been _eating_ _constantly_?" Sherlock demanded.

"Lots of reasons," said John fairly, tilting his head to take Sherlock in again, "Your metabolism might naturally run high, when you do get around to feeding it. Or maybe you've hit a sort of threshold where you'll need even more calories to put weight on. You're not really eating that much more than what I'd call normal for your height, love."

Sherlock chewed his lower lip, taking John's advice in. "Hmm... yes, I believe you might be right, John. I should hopefully gain more by stepping up the calories I ingest, and I'll try to increase the volume of the portions I consume. That ought to stretch my stomach and increase capacity as well as appetite." He licked his lips thoughtfully.

"That ought to help, yeah," agreed John, grinning slightly and stepping over to lightly prod at Sherlock's side.

"Come on then, love. Mrs. Hudson brought us up a lovely lemon pound cake the other day. Care for a cuppa and a slice or two?"

Sherlock nodded, drumming his fingers against his belly. It rumbled, and a wolfish smile slunk onto his features. "Yes... though I don't think you need bother with slicing it, John. I'm rather hungry all of a sudden."

John couldn't get the kettle on fast enough.

_**Day 5: Tummy kisses.**_

Sherlock slid his plate onto the coffee table with a clatter. Then he groaned and grabbed his belly with both hands.

"Oh, God, I'm full," he breathed, muffling a small belch.

John swallowed hard. He'd spent the last 20 minutes or so coaxing bite after bite of moist, slightly sticky, and sweet lemon pound cake into the man before him. He'd managed all but a small bit at the end, which John was happy to make up for. The results were more than a little spectacular.

Sherlock's belly was looking round and bloated, curving beautifully up from the waist band of his pajama bottoms. The skin around the navel was looking perfectly taught, and just slightly flushed with pink from being filled. The man's cheeks were a bit pink as well, and those plump lips were looking exceptionally enticing after all the work they'd been put through.

"I can tell," said John, chuckling and giving in to the desire to kiss the man. Sherlock kissed shyly back, his movements slow and careful. John could still taste the sweetness of the sugary icing on those lovely lips. He hummed and ventured to kiss a bit deeper. Sherlock gasped, and his eyes fluttered closed. John smirked and sucked slowly at the man's lower lip. His hand slid up to caress the rounded belly beneath him. Sherlock flinched and John moved back, looking down with concern. "Sorry, did that hurt?"

"Er, not really, it's just," Sherlock began, glancing down at the dome of increasingly soft flesh that was his stomach, "Doesn't it put you off? You don't have to kiss me, I know I've just gorged myself on cake and well..." He looked away. John felt his heart melt a little.

"Blimey, never thought I'd see Sherlock Holmes, with his cheekbones and swirling coat, so self-conscious," said John, teasing lightly. Sherlock's cheeks burned in response.

"It's alright, love. You're fine. Better than that even. You look cute. All fed up and round-"

"I'm not round!"

"What do you call this then?" A poke for that gorgeous belly.

"Ow! Slightly overfull," snapped Sherlock, bringing his hands down to protect his bloated middle from John's prodding. "And quite sensitive."

"Oh? Sorry, love. Here, let me make up for that then," said John, shifting nearer. The doctor then dipped his head to kiss Sherlock, who eyed him with some suspicion. Then John kissed his cheek, back along his jaw, to his ear, then dragged his lips softly down Sherlock's neck. The detective shifted slightly under John's attentions.

John smirked and kissed along a cushioned collar bone. "You look amazing, Sherlock," he murmured, his breath gusting on the man's pale skin. Sherlock squirmed again. "Beautiful."

"Honestly, Joh-" Sherlock began, but was cut off as his doctor slid a very wet, very hot tongue over a very sensitive nipple. "Oh..."

John chuckled and kissed further down his lover's sternum, then finally up that lovely arch of belly. He hummed against the skin, and kissed a line to Sherlock's navel. He felt the skin under his lips contract and expand minutely as Sherlock's breath hitched.

"You're still you, Sherlock. And you still look incredible, there's just _more_ of you. More for me to love, loads of new tum for me to kiss," continued John, bringing his hands up to slowly rub around the shape of Sherlock's distended belly. Long-fingered and slightly trembling hands joined his own.

"Oh?" rumbled Sherlock, tilting his head up to lock eyes with John, "I think... I rather like that." The detective rubbed cautiously at his own belly, matching John's slow movements. "Hmmm... yes..."

"I like it too," said John, then dipped his head to give more kisses to the tight skin beneath his lips. He allowed his lips to part and his tongue to taste. Sherlock grunted in surprise, but then sighed. John took that as his cue to get to work. Properly. He nipped at a tiny fold of flesh, making Sherlock gasp, then he kissed and mouthed his way to Sherlock's navel. He sucked on the soft fleshy skin around the dip, then dipped his tongue in, lapping at the tight walls around it. Sherlock moaned.

"J-John!"

"Yeah?" asked John, lifting his head to grin cheekily at his lover.

Sherlock had thrown his head back, his fingers, digging into his softening gut for something to hang onto. Now he flipped his head back up, panting. He looked distinctly annoyed that John had stopped. He huffed a few breaths and swallowed. "Do... do that again," he growled.

John chuckled and rubbed his cheek against Sherlock's belly. "Mm... yeah, think I will. Feels good, huh?"

"Exceptionally," said Sherlock, still rather breathless, but no less demanding, "John, more."

"Course, love," said John, dipping his head to nuzzle into the man's navel. "Whatever you like."

Then he was kissing, licking, lavishing every inch of Sherlock's new belly in attention while the man groaned deeply and writhed underneath him. Definitely more for both of them to love, thought John as he ventured lower.


	4. Days 6 & 7

_**Day 6: A fight made up with sexy times and or food.**_

Sherlock's trousers only seemed to grow tighter as the week progressed. His culinary endeavors also seemed to grow more adventurous day by day. A curried shrimp dish Monday that made the tongue sing even as it burned. With Tuesday came a tender pork roast with thick sweet rice pudding with a red cherry sauce for dessert. Wednesday, freshly made tarts of varying flavors and quite possibly the best ham, cheese, and bacon omelet John had ever tasted. Thursday was freshly made crab cakes followed by creme-filled fairy cakes. By Friday, Sherlock had progressed to filet mignon and John's trousers were decidedly tighter as well. While he loved seeing Sherlock's belly looking rounder and softer each day, straining those sinfully tight shirts and tailored trousers (he'd stuck to his pajamas by Thursday), John somehow couldn't gather up the same affection for the bit of pudge settling on his own middle. He decided to take up jogging.

He brought track pants and a t-shirt to work with him, changed and then would jog home. Well part of the way home. It had been quite a long time since he had jogged for longer than was needed to catch a criminal. And there the adrenaline was helping. But he was working up to it slowly. He would run as far as he could, then walk the rest of the way until he reached 221 Baker street, sweaty, breathless and red-faced. And then Sherlock would present him with some magnificent sweet that he had baked that day, or a calorie-laden dinner of homemade fried fish and chips. John would eat them happily, and then hate his weak will the next day.

This cycle continued for a few days more, John's increased appetite at the end of his workout effectively canceling out the work out. The final straw turned out to be a frankly fucking spectacular chocolate cream pie, piled high with whipped cream. It was beautiful. And John couldn't take it anymore.

"What the hell, Sherlock?!" he bellowed, still huffing from his jog and looking red enough to boil a tea kettle.

Sherlock blinked and shrank slightly, looking down at the pie tin in his hands. "Chocolate cream pie," he repeated cautiously, frowning as he tried to pinpoint the cause of his lover's rage, "It was a recipe I found online, perfectly simple, and I had all the ingredients in. You liked the chocolate mousse I made the other day so-"

"So you thought you'd do one better and just make even _more_ of that fattening shit for me to stuff in my face? Well thanks a lot. Really."

"No, I just-"

"Stuff it, mate," snapped John, striding past the pie and his lover, "I'm going to have a shower."

"John, wait!" said Sherlock, grabbing the shorter man's arm and setting the pie aside with enviable grace. John glowered up at him. Sherlock's eyes were darting around every feature, his brows furrowing. "I don't understand. Why are you upset? Is it something I've done?"

"Yes," said John furiously, "You keep _cooking_."

Sherlock blinked, if John were in a better mood he might have enjoyed the look of honest confusion on the detective's face, but as it was, John jusr felt angrier.

"Don't act like you don't know what you're doing," he growled, glowering up at the taller man.

"John, I hardly think cooking constitutes such a reaction. I am trying to gain weight after all. And I find it keeps boredom to a minimum," said Sherlock, looking concerned. Then it clicked. "Oh..."

"Yeah, 'oh'" said John in a passable imitation.

"_You've_ gained weight."

"No, shit."

"And you're unhappy with it for some reason," said Sherlock, his eyes scanning John again as though he could deduce it, "Why?"

John sighed and shook his head. "I dunno. I just don't feel like myself."

Sherlock cocked his head. "You're still you," he said gently, smiling a bit, "There's just a bit _more_ of you."

"Oi, that's my line," said John, but a small smile crept out despite himself. Sherlock chuckled and pulled John into a gentle embrace, pressing their softening middles together with a gentle hum of contentment.

"No, thank God. I prefer you safe and civillian, although... I understand if you wish to gain a bit of fitness," rumbled Sherlock, "but you don't need to lose weight, John. However you're happy, so am I. And I really do think it would be a shame if you didn't get to taste this pie I've made. The website promised it to be 'better than sex'."

John chuckled. "I'll be the judge of that," he murmured, pulling back a bit and chewing his lower lip. "Just a small one then."

"If it helps," continued Sherlock, "I was planning on making a salad for dinner. Even my constitution is starting to object to the constant sweets."

That wrung a laugh out of John, and Sherlock joined in, then gave him another gentle squeeze.

"I love you, my John, and I would think it a shame for you not to enjoy yourself. You look absolutely fine. Better than that even," Sherlock added, leaning in to murmur into John's ear, "And whatever you do, please try to keep a bit of that utterly delicious little belly. For me?" He nibbled at the man's earlobe then pulled away.

"Oh, you mean... you like it?"

"Hmm..." purred Sherlock, arching lightly into John again and biting his lower lip. Long fingers slid down to press lightly into the tummy in question.

"I thought... Because how you always tease Mycroft-"

"No!" said Sherlock sharply, looking distinctly put off for a moment before softening again. "You have your shower. I'll get dinner ready. Then we can see about that pie for afters, yes?"

"Yeah, okay," said John, smiling slightly. Sherlock leaned down to press a chaste kiss to his doctor's mouth, then went to the kitchen. John watched him go, smirking slightly at the love handles growing under an increasingly tight t-shirt. He slid his hands down over his own and squeezed. Well, what was good enough for Sherlock, was good enough for him. And it didn't feel anything but soft and warm and touchable. John went to shower, relaxing under the spray, and deciding that he could most definitely afford to enjoy himself. It would be a shame to let all that pie go to waste after all.

_**Day 7: What about babies? **Only food babies in this verse, sorry!  
_

Food babies! eat all the pie! Feed each other the last of it and compare bellies :) fantastic salad and bread, loads of pie and nummy tea for each. "Come on love, you can fit a little more. should I though. I'd say most diffinitively yes.

"Come now, John, last bite is yours. The last five have been mine alone. You're not eating your share."

John sighed and rolled his eyes, but parted his lips with a bit of a smile. The last bite of thick creamy chocolate cream pie and whipped cream entered his mouth on it's crumbly crust. John worked though the mass with his tongue, then swallowed it down with a soft huff.  
"Mm... that was really good," he said, muffling a small belch as he ran a hand down to undo his trousers. He hissed softly as he set his belly free, then heard Sherlock do the same beside him.

"Well, I think I've cancelled out both the salad, and the workout now," chuckled John, looking at the emptied pie tin. They'd managed to eat the whole thing between them, Sherlock claiming the vast majority of course. But before that the salad's Sherlock had crafted had been quite generous in size and croutons. The result was that the two of them were now reclining against the headboard of their bed and feeling exceedingly full. John glanced over at Sherlock as the man shifted down further, the tightened blue t shirt riding up over a pale round belly. John smirked and reached over to give it a teasing prod.

"Oof! Must you take pleasure in my discomfort?" grumbled Sherlock, wriggling away as best he could. John knew him well enough however that he wasn't nearly as cross as he sounded.

"Sorry, just wondered when you were due," said John, still chuckling, "I'd guess you're going to pop a few weeks before I do."

"John, I do hope you've noticed in the time since our relationship became far more physical that I am unquestionably biologically male."

"Your food baby, you prat," John clarified, then reached over to play with Sherlock's belly again, though he was much gentler this time.

Sherlock snorted, but turned into John's affections this time. "You mean to say the amount of food I've ingested makes me look pregnant."

"A bit," said John, giving the belly in question a bit of a squeeze, "You are looking a bit swollen, love. Your belly's all round and hard from everything you've eaten tonight."

Sherlock groaned slightly, eyes sliding closed in bliss, as John pressed into a sensitive spot on said belly. "I can't find fault with that observation," he said, running his own hand down to his middle and rubbing idly at the stretched skin. "Hmm... I might be having twins at this rate."

"Does that mean you'll be eating for three tomorrow?" John gave his lover's belly another squeeze. It felt so good in his hands, soft, yielding, present, _big_. He wet his lips and pushed it lightly to watch it move and shift underneath him.

Sherlock's eyes flicked back open and a mischievous light entered into them as they wandered over John.

"Quite possible I think," he rumbled, still smirking as he arched his back to push his stomach out just a bit further. He was rewarded by a very attentive and passionate doctor not a half second later.


	5. Days 8-11

_**Author's note: Be aware that this chapter becomes NSFW by Day 10.**_

_**Day 8: How did the weight gain happen? (Suggested by one partner, by accident, for a case, etc.?)** It's for a case, as Sherlock explains, though there may be an element of experimentation regarding a certain army doctor.  
_

John was cooking breakfast when he heard Sherlock's sudden exultation from the bathroom. A few seconds later, Sherlock was standing before him, looking very pleased as he patted his now definitely round and soft belly.

"Target weight achieved," Sherlock continued, prodding the flesh with a finger, "I'll be able to start on this case in a matter of days. All my research has been productive and my disguise is well on it's way. All I require now is proper costuming."

"That's great, love," said John, grinning, "But does that mean you won't be having any of these pancakes?" He flipped one over, to reveal the other side perfectly browned. Sherlock sniffed at the enticing smell.

"Not at all," said the detective, "I'll need to maintain this weight after all."

John felt oddly relieved. "Good. I found a recipe that has you put nutella right in the batter, thought you might like them."

"That certainly sounds appetizing," said Sherlock, wetting his lips and looking at the stack of finished pancakes as John brought another fresh one over.

"Go on then," John chuckled, "Help yourself."

A stack of six was moved to another plate, then doused in whipped topping and strawberries that John had set out. Sherlock then sat himself at the kitchen table and tucked in, smiling at the cup of tea already by his place.

"Mmm, oh these are good," he purred, his stomach rumbling faintly in kind. It seemed his appetite was only getting more voracious as he fed it.

John finished the last of the batter, placed his two on a plate and then brought them over to sit across from Sherlock.

"So what's this case then?" he asked, cutting a bite and eating it with a hum of approval before going back for more.

"It seems the new owner of the local fitness club has some questionable practices," answered Sherlock mildly, sipping his tea. John noticed with something akin to wonderment that Sherlock had already polished off over half of his breakfast.

"So you're going in to have a look? Why do you need a belly to do that?"

"A disguise. And one that will allow me into the weight loss program," said Sherlock, "I could hardly join up if I didn't have weight to lose. And my research has shown that I need to be at least ten pounds overweight to get started. I'd need 20 pounds over to get access to the questionable pills."

"So it's a con," said John with a shrug, "Most of the diet pills and plans are nowadays. What's so special about these ones?"

Sherlock's eyes practically glinted with glee. "They work. But they have some very interesting side effects. I doubt they belong in the bottle the owner distributes them in, at any rate. I need to get my hands on a sample, possibly try them out myself..."

"Sherlock, you're not popping something you just described as having 'interesting side effects'!"

"Oh, come now, John. No one has _died_. Not yet at least," said Sherlock, going nonchalantly back to his pancakes.

"Sherlock!"

"Fine. I'll test them through more mundane means. Take them to Molly."

"Thank you," said John, with a bit of a sigh, "Though I still don't see quite how you chubbing up helps."

Sherlock shrugged. "I need more details from other club members, need to see the scoundrel in action, and of course, there's a highly interesting experiment that is also related to my weight gain." He finished his breakfast and sat back with a belch, his hand resting atop his soft squashy belly.

"Oh? What's the experiment?" asked John, his eyes glued to Sherlock's pudge. He swallowed.

The detective merely smirked and downed the rest of his tea.

_**Day 9: New set of clothes.**_

"What do you think?" asked Sherlock, returning to the living room and spreading his arms as he did a quick 360 degree turn in front of John.

John realized his mouth was open and sheepishly shut it with a swallow.

"Looks... looks good. Yeah," he managed breathlessly. Sherlock smirked. The detective was clad in a pair of dark purple skinny jeans that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Every curve was highlighted. His calves were still relatively lean and slim but then lead up to a set of plump thighs and an arse that was nothing short of voluptuous. Even better, Sherlock's carefully acquired love handles were spilling over the top, highlighted by the form fitting t-shirt Sherlock had chosen. It was a tad small perhaps, but John found himself in love with that shirt as it clung to that perfectly round and very cushy belly. Even better, it seemed a bit too short for Sherlock's long torso and so looked to be in constant danger of riding up and exposing pristine pale flesh. Added to that was a loose jacket with a hood, unzipped in front, and a slight amount of scruff allowed to grow on Sherlock's face to match the rather more messy curls than Sherlock's usual. The smirk made the man look positively roguish.

"I might consider a pair of track bottoms or sweat trousers as well," said Sherlock conversationally, now pacing slowly, those fleshy hips rolling and the t-shirt riding up over the man's belly, "I doubt Shezza would be comfortable working out in these jeans. I can hardly move."

John shook his head and shifted on the sofa. "Sh-Shezza? Who's that?"

"This," said Sherlock, gesturing at his body, "My cover. A young graphics designer who's found his weight creeping up on him after university."

"Ah, okay. How many people do you know called 'Shezza' though?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "It's one I can remember John. And I think it fits."

John snorted, but was then very distracted as Sherlock plopped down on the sofa beside him, that lovely belly pooching out over his jeans and crinkling under the shirt. John's mouth was suddenly watering. He longed to press his face right up into that softness, perhaps even take a little bite.

"Do you know... I'm not sure this is enough," mused Sherlock, running his hands over his belly as John felt himself grow very warm.

"W-what? Really?" he spluttered, looking up at Sherlock in amazement.

"Oh yes. The weight gain needs to look to be increasing steadily. I need to be positively bursting out of these clothes," said Sherlock an oddly husky tone creeping in as he rubbed at his fleshy middle. "What do you think... doctor?"

"Oh, God yes," John groaned, then gave into his desire and pressed himself eagerly against his lover.

_**Day 10: A day of stuffing.**_

They started with something simple. Perfectly yellow scrambled eggs, light and fluffy on the fork, speckled with black pepper and just a dash of salt. Intermixed were succulent slivers of sausage, perfectly spiced, salty to bring out the flavors of the eggs. Each man began with a heaping plate and ended with a bare one. Sherlock felt confident in his newfound capacity and so retrieved a plate of seconds as John watched him eat with nothing short of adoration. Once that plate was cleared, Sherlock sat back with a belch and rested a hand on his belly. John was quickly at his side, rubbing at the soft flesh and murmuring in his ear. "Good start. Just two meals and three snacks to go."

xxx

Next came a generous assortment of fruits. Sherlock complained, but John insisted that he would have something with vitamins in it that day. The detective gave in when he was assured he could dunk them in large amounts of whipped cream or chocolate sauce. When they were fed to him one by one on the fingers of his doctor, he wondered why he had even wanted to complain in the first place. Sherlock hummed softly, licking the sticky sweetness from the pads of his lover's fingers. John swallowed, feeling his lips part as Sherlock's lips dragged lightly over his knuckles and the detective gave him a sultry half-lidded look. Once the last strawberry had found it's home in Sherlock's belly and the man's hums had turned to sighs and groans in turn, John decided he needed a taste too. He pulled Sherlock roughly to him and kissed him hard, lapping up the blend of flavors he found within as a reminder of what Sherlock had eaten for him. The detective kissed back languidly, smiling at the enthusiasm he found in his doctor. Then John pulled back, smirking as Sherlock whimpered at the loss of contact. They had all day after all. They should take it slow.

xxx

Lunch involved a quick trip to Sherlock's favorite chippy. They each got an order of fish and chips along with an extra portion of chips that the smiling owner insisted on bestowing on Sherlock with a wink. They caught a cab back home, John insisting that Sherlock not have a bite of the food before they made it back. He grinned as Sherlock scowled and squirmed, accosted as he was by the frankly mouthwatering aroma of hot fresh fish and greasy chips. Still, he obeyed and John was proud of him.

He leaned in to murmur tauntingly in his lover's ear. "Can't have you bursting out of those new jeans here, after all." Sherlock stiffened, his breath escaping him in a huff as he looked sideways at John. He reached down to shift the waistband of another pair of 'Shezza's' skinny jeans slightly. He'd worn them to get a good idea of how they would look, though John was fairly certain he'd be fed out of them by the time the fish and chips were gone.

Sherlock's lips were at John's ear as he murmured low and husky in return. "Mm, good point. They feel so tight. I must look royally _fat_ sitting here with my belly poking out. But I don't care... I'm so _hungry_, John!" John's own breath hitched and he had to clench his jaw very hard to keep from embarrassing himself at that. Sherlock chuckled and John shot him a hard look in return. Still, he couldn't help but smile.  
They were back at the flat, and soon after all the baskets were emptied of every last crisp golden chip and piece of flaky fried fish. John cuddled into Sherlock's side, sliding his hand down the man's belly, feeling how tight the shirt had grown, how smooth and round the flesh beneath it. He hummed in approval, feeling where the expanded gut had lifted the edge of the shirt up. Sherlock huffed a breath as John dragged his fingers past his navel to where the detective's jeans were cutting into his belly. The man sighed as John flicked the jeans open and his stomach was allowed to expand a bit further. John kissed along Sherlock's neck as his hand began rubbing slow circles over Sherlock's navel. The man groaned and shifted into John's touch.

"Are... are you going to tease me... all day?" he murmured breathlessly, eyes falling shut as his stomach gurgled.

"Hm, maybe," John teased, his voice low and husky.

"Bastard."

"Love you, too."

xxx

Then after Sherlock had been able to digest and change into his track bottoms, it was time for the afternoon snack. John brought in two tall glasses of milk and a batch of what the American website had called White Chocolate Macademia Nut Cookies. He wasn't planning on eating many of them, but he thought it was only fair if he kept his love company. The cookies were almost achingly buttery and sweet, the slight saltiness of the nuts helped a bit, but Sherlock was groaning by the time he had finished three.

"C'mon, love, you can manage a couple more, can't you?" wheedled John, pressing kisses to his lover's jaw.

"Mmph, oh God, John, I don't know if I can..."

"That's alright. Here, have a drink," said John kindly, picking up a glass and holding it to Sherlock's lips. The detective gulped gratefully at it and sat back, rubbing his belly.

"Better?" asked John.

"Marginally," replied Sherlock, muffling another belch, "Hmmph, go on then. Let's try another."

John fed it to him in pieces, rubbing his belly coaxingly all the while. At last, all were eaten that could be managed between the two of them. Sherlock stretched out on the sofa, head in John's lap, and slept while John continued soothing his overfull belly.

xxx

John gave Sherlock a bit longer to digest before wandering out to the kitchen to get dinner started. He looked back at his lover, still fast asleep, mouth lolling open, and smiled. The man's middle was looking decidedly bloated, the shirt pushed up to his ribcage in his sleep, exposing stretched pale skin rounding out to lay heavily on the sofa cushions. John had rarely seen him look so beautiful, but not now. Dinner first.

Sherlock awoke to a decidedly garlicky smell. He sniffed again, eyes still closed. Basil. Oregano. Onion. Tomato. _Italian_. Likely a pasta sauce. Sherlock wet his lips. He supposed he ought to feel disgusted by the very idea of more food. But somehow all he felt was enticed... even hungry. He slid his hand down to his middle which felt heavy and full and very very warm. _God_, the weight of it! The sheer indulgence to get this full was. Sherlock drew in a long breath, his hand slipping down to squeeze at his belly, rub along his thigh. _Fuck_! He felt heat flood his lower belly and immediately felt shocked at the intensity of that feeling. Still. Dinner. He swallowed and hauled himself up in a sitting position with a soft 'oomph'.

John immediately poked his head out of the kitchen. "Awake, love? You have perfect timing," he said smiling, and emerging with two bowls of steaming spaghetti in a thick tomato sauce.

"Mm, so do you," said Sherlock, grinning and leaning back against the sofa with a huff. He stroked his belly, watching John's eyes track the movement. "I'm starving."

The heat coiling in Sherlock's belly seemed only to grow and tighten as he stuffed forkful after forkful, bite after bite, of the hearty dish into his mouth. He felt the tightness of his belly grow with every swallow, seeming to blur with his arousal. He moaned as he choked down the last of it and threw his head back, his belly heavy in his lap. "Fuck... _John."_

"What is it?" asked John, abandoning his own pasta and moving closer, laying a hand atop the man's burgeoning belly. "Are you hurt? What do you need?"

Sherlock burped, then panted as he looked down at his lover, pupils blown wide and dark. _"You_..." he purred, then pulled John to him as best he could and devoured him as well. John groaned, grabbing at the drum tight flesh his lover's belly had become, kissing back with equal fervor. Neither of them it seemed could get enough.

"B-bedroom?" he panted when they paused for breath.

"No. Here," growled Sherlock, pulling John close to tug at the doctor's lower lip with his teeth. John whimpered and dug his fingers into Sherlock's belly. The detective smirked. "I doubt I could move anyway."

"_Jesus_, Sherlock!" John panted.

"Hmm," Sherlock hummed, tugging John over to straddle his lap as best he could, "I think... you need to fuck my belly, Doctor Watson."

John's brain seemed to short circuit for a moment, and then a moment or two more as Sherlock pressed John into his round overstuffed belly.

"Hah! Fff-God! Yes, but-"

"But what?"

"Can you wait until after dessert?"

Sherlock groaned, but John could tell it was only partially in frustration. The detective's eyes fluttered shut as he reigned himself in, still breathing hard.

"I... I believe I could... Captain."

**_Day 11: Favourite food to stuff with?_  
**

"Open."

Sherlock obediently parted his lips again, opened his mouth for another spoonful of rich gooey, impossibly sweet banoffee pie. He hummed indulgently, eyes fluttering closed as he worked the mass of whipped cream, banana and toffee into a form he could swallow. He kept chewing a while longer, both to appreciate the taste, and because his stomach was getting really rather full. Well, that was a bit of an understatement. He was positively _bursting_. And still he managed to eat more for his doctor. He groaned as he swallowed, his stomach gurgling in protest. He gasped and looked up at John with bleary eyes. He felt like all his neurons were firing at half speed, his usual buzzing hive of thoughts narrowed down to _full_, _swallow,_ _fuck, _and _John..._

"Just a bit more, love," said John, cupping his detective's cheek in one hand to get a look at him. John was looking rather flushed as well, though his eyes were blazing with life and interest where Sherlock was lazy and subdued. "You're doing so well, but I know you can take a bit more. Just finish this slice, Sherlock."

He held up the remaining slice on the plate. Sherlock moaned again, trying to shift under his uncomfortably heavy and stuffed belly. God, he could use all that pressure somewhere else. John's hand slid down to rub at Sherlock's gut, and the man whimpered before opening his overworked mouth again to take more. And more. And just a little more again. John slid a finger along the emptied plate to collect the last of the sticky residue. He slid it past Sherlock's lips and the detective's tongue poked out automatically to lick it clean.

"That's it. Oh, God, Sherlock, look at _you,"_ John practically growled, setting the plate aside to heft at Sherlock's belly with both hands. "You're incredible. So beautiful, so fucking round..."

He was panting, but he hardly cared. Sherlock seemed to be in a similar state.

"Christ, how did I manage to eat all that?" the detective moaned, squirming as John played with his belly. "Oh, oh God, I think I'm going to die. John!"

"Shh, I'm here, you're alright."

"M'not. Gonna pop," Sherlock breathed, pressing his fingers into his bloated belly and gasping at the odd mixture of pain and pleasure. His nerves were on fire, but he couldn't seem to decide if that was a good or bad feeling. He hiccuped, then groaned again as it jostled his middle.  
John wet his lips and couldn't hold back anymore. With a groan of his own his fell upon the tight round skin with lips, tongue and teeth in generous measure.

"So fucking _hot_," he panted, rubbing every inch of engorged flesh and practically rutting against the sofa, _"Christ_, Sherlock!"

"John. John, I need-" Sherlock broke off, shuddering and crying out as he felt John sink his teeth into his belly and suck hard enough to leave a mark. "_Yesss..."_

John smirked against Sherlock's skin, soothing the love bite with gentle kisses. "More?"

"God yes!"

John quickly divested himself of his own clothing, then tugged off Sherlock's track pants. He couldn't very well get the man's shirt off currently, but the way it was riding up over that gorgeously fat belly meant that John didn't mind at all. Sherlock only seemed to appreciate that he didn't have to try to bend. He just slid further down the sofa and spread his legs wantonly with a soft moan. John moved up to kiss the man hard, letting out a soft gasp as he dipped his spine and felt Sherlock's tight overfull stomach brushing his own. John ground down a bit harder, arching into that wonderful sensation. Sherlock huffed underneath him and hiccuped again. John smiled and kissed him again, then slid back to tug off the man's pants. He was astonished at how hard Sherlock already was without any stimulation. His member sprang up, purple headed and leaking against his bloated belly as soon as the restrictive pants were gone.

Sherlock's gasp of relief was met by John's own appreciative groan. He closed his fist around Sherlock and the man's breath stuttered. He began stroking him slowly, spreading the precum that was still leaking copiously all down the length. John slid his other hand down to his own cock, feeling it twitch as Sherlock whimpered.

"John, please... I-urp need-need more."

"I know, love. I'm coming."

He moved back up so that he was nestled between Sherlock's legs on his knees. He slotted his cock up against Sherlock's with a hiss at the hot hard flesh. Then he took them both in hand and started rolling his hips. He gasped as Sherlock moaned, doing his best to arch his back, but far too weighed down by his belly. John pressed closer until he was rutting up against Sherlock's overfull belly and sliding along his lover's cock, pressing both of them into that tight overfed flesh.

"John. John. Yes, oh, ffuh!"

John grunted in response, his eyes growing half lidded as the friction built. "Christ, Sherlock, all you ate today."

"Huh!"

"S-so fucking soft, round..."

"Mmmmmph-oh! Couldn't stop. All so good. Wanted to get-get"

"Huge?" growled John, rutting harder as Sherlock shuddered again, the detective's hands moving of to grab at his gigantic belly, "Fat? Fucking mountainous?"

Sherlock cried out and arched back as John gave him one more good tug. The doctor's fist grew even slicker as Sherlock came hard, spurting generously onto that beautiful belly and then collapsing back against the sofa with a whimper.

John let go of Sherlock's softening cock and then finished himself off with another few thrusts up against that brilliant, bodacious belly.

His limbs were still trembling as he rode out the after shocks. He crawled up over Sherlock again to kiss the man's cheek. "Hey, you alright?"

Sherlock's eyes were still closed and his breath was coming quite shallowly. His eyes dragged themselves open when he heard his doctor however.

"Fffine," he murmured, a small dopey smile spreading across Sherlock's face. John chuckled and kissed him gently.

"Good. Really good," breathed John, trailing his fingers through his lover's hair.

"Hmm..." agreed Sherlock, letting his eyes fall lazily closed as he lolled into John's touch, "I don't know if being stuffed somehow heightened every tactile sensation in my body, but that was the best fucking orgasm of my life."

John smiled and teased, "Maybe. Or maybe you just found a bit of a kink."

Sherlock's cheeks flushed a little darker, but his voice was a deep confident rumble. "That makes two of us then."


	6. Day 12

_**Day 12: Trying on old clothes.**_

John emerged from the bathroom, freshly showered and dressed in one of his looser jumpers and a pair of smart jeans. His hair was still sticking up from being toweled dry, but it would settle shortly. He huffed slightly and gave in, loosening his belt another notch. Likely bloating from being in the shower after all. He could tighten it later.

"Sherlock?" he called, "You read-" He stopped dead.

Sherlock was preening in front of the mirror in the living room, though a handsome sight usually, something was very different. And absolutely fantastic. The detective turned again, dragging his fingertips slowly down over his torso to his belly. He'd only managed to button a couple of buttons at his rib cage and the result was that his tummy was poking out between, pale and round. It pooched past his trouser waist band and John noticed with a thrill that Sherlock hadn't managed to button those either. Then again he was surprised he'd even managed to get them up past his bum. He looked ready to tear a seam. The detective bounced slightly on the balls of his feet and John had to bite his lip to keep back a groan at how that made Sherlock's belly jiggle. Sherlock had noticed too. John watched his lips part, his tongue wet them slightly as he slid those long violinist's fingers down to press and squeeze at the flesh.

Suddenly John really couldn't stand not touching Sherlock. He sauntered into the living room, grinning as Sherlock started and turned to face him.

"Hello, what are you up to?" asked John, his eyes flicking down to stare at Sherlock's gut. The man in question inhaled sharply and John wasn't sure if he was trying to suck it in.

"Ah, er, I was just curious," said Sherlock with a shrug, though there was a gruffness at the end of the words which hinted at something more. "I'm quite a bit heavier. I wondered if... I wondered if my old clothes still fit."

John chuckled, his eyes tracing over the shirt button which looked a second from failing, at the trousers just barely tugged up chubby thighs. He stepped closer and hooked a finger inside Sherlock's waistband, biting his lip at how tight they felt.

"Hmm. Doesn't look like they fit, does it?" said John, grinning and tugging again, "Looks like you might need these let out."

"It would appear so," rumbled Sherlock, turning to face John and leaning in to press his belly against the other man. John's breath caught and he eagerly leaned into the soft warm flesh. Sherlock drew his arms around John and kissed him deeply. John responded fervently, squeezing at Sherlock's fleshy sides, feeling Sherlock's hands wandering from his shoulders down his back, to his own sides in turn. John felt his lover's lips smirk against his own.

"Ah," murmured Sherlock, rubbing around a roundness that was most definitely a set of love handles not his own, "Good to see I'm not the only one. Think your jumpers can be let out?"

John sputtered, but Sherlock just squeezed harder and silenced him with a kiss that told John quite plainly that there was nothing to worry about.

"Er," said John, blinking up at Sherlock once they broke their kiss.

"Mm?"

"Think we might need a detour to the bedroom? Before we..."

"Hmm, yes I think so. I need to see how much cuddly doctor is hiding beneath that jumper. Though it's not really hiding anymore," growled Sherlock, smirking and rucking up John's jumper to get at skin. "And when we do go out, I'm afraid I'll have to borrow Shezza's trousers. These are really uncomfortably tight."

John gave an odd sort of squeak, but swallowed his protests as he felt exactly how much Sherlock liked his 'cuddly doctor'. "Hmm," John added in return, arching his back to rub their middles together again, "Getting fat are you, Sherlock? Must be all that eating you've been doing."

"Oomph," breathed Sherlock, pressing his belly firmly back into John, "I-yes, that... that must be it. I can't help it. I just get so very hungry now. I want to eat everything in sight. Feels so good." He groaned softly and pressed his forehead to John's. "Bedroom. And we'll see if we can get my fat arse out of these trousers enough for you to fuck it."

Then he was gone and John was left stumbling into air. He whimpered softly, then tore after his lover.


	7. Days 13 & 14

**13. Going out for the day.**

"Well, Sherlock, are you going to tell me where we're going then?" asked John, standing after doing up his shoe laces. He and Sherlock had had a quick rinse in the shower after their heated time in the bedroom. Now both were clean and fully dressed again, John in the same clothes as before and Sherlock in a pair of Shezza's grey skinny jeans and a button up shirt that looked more like Sherlock's own style.

"And spoil the surprise?" said Sherlock, grinning as he held open the door for them to leave. John rolled his eyes but followed his mad detective out to the street below to catch a cab.

The surprise turned out to be... well, quite a surprise actually.

"A _club_?" John spluttered, looking in shock at the man.

"Yes..." said Sherlock, raising an eyebrow and paying the cabbie before sauntering out. John scrambled after him.

"Sherlock, I am forty fucking years old."

"And I'm thirty-five years old. Problem?"

"Yeah, a bit. It's all fine for you. You look like you've been dipped in the bloody fountain of youth since you hit your late twenties," snapped John, shoving his hands into his pockets before taking a deep breath. He continued more calmly. "Look, I appreciate you taking me out. Really I do. I'm sure it would be great, but I think I'm a couple years out of the club scene. Maybe a nice bar would be-"

"John, it's fine. You're fine. I promise. You don't have to dance. Though I might, so it would be a shame if you didn't," Sherlock winked and swept inside. John sighed and followed after him.

Inside it was quite dark and there was a pulsing pound of too loud music being pumped to the dance floor. A few circles of young twenty-somethings were hesitantly making their way onto it, though John could tell it was early. No one was drunk enough yet to really cut loose. He spotted Sherlock leaning against the bar ahead. John took a moment to appreciate his lover's altered silohete, then noticed he appeared to be talking to someone. A young blonde woman with a round sweet face to be precise. She was rather plump, and really quite pretty, her dress clinging to the generous curve of her hips. John frowned and sidled up to the bar beside Sherlock.

"Hello," he said mildly.

The woman, who had been talking jumped and fell quiet. Sherlock glanced at John, then addressed the woman again.

"It's all right, Miss Hadley. This is my associate and partner, Dr. John Watson."

"Oh yes, sorry! I should have realized. Miss Lucille Hadley," said the woman, smiling at John and offering her hand to shake. John stepped around Sherlock a bit and took it, smiling politely.

"Pleasure to meet you," said John with a nod. He glanced at Sherlock. It seemed odd to think that he might run into a friend at a dance hall.

"Miss Hadley is the one who put me on to the local fitness club," explained Sherlock.

"Oh," said John, suddenly realizing with exasperation that Sherlock had taken him out so they could meet a client. He did his best to mask his emotions however, gritting his teeth in a smile, "How nice. Er, can I get both of you a drink then?"

"That's lovely of you," said Miss Hadley, smiling warmly at John in thanks, "I'll take a Pimms number 1 with lemonade, please."

"Alright," said John, smiling and looking at Sherlock.

"You know what I like," the detective said dismissively, waving a hand before turning back to his client and resuming his questioning. John rolled his eyes. Yes. He knew exactly what Sherlock would like. A swift kick up the- but no. He could get the drinks. When he returned a few minutes later, Sherlock was shaking hands with Miss Hadley again.

"Here you are," said John, passing her her drink.

"Oh, thank you," replied Miss Hadley, looking significantly more relaxed now. Perhaps Sherlock had stopped grilling her. "And thank you Mr. Holmes. I'll feel a right lot better knowing you're keeping a lookout for my sister."

"Of course," replied Sherlock, a smile on his lips even if he looked rather lost in thought, "I shall keep you updated. I have your email still. Enjoy your evening."

"You too," said their client, smiling, "Thanks again for the drink." She then quickly went to join a small group of people sat at the other side of the room that she apparently knew.

Sherlock watched her go absently, lost in thought. John huffed moodily and hauled himself up on a barstool. He slid Sherlock his vodka and tonic and took a swig of his own beer.

"Sherlock."

"Hm?"

"Are you listening or just making noises?"

"Mm."

"God fucking damn it, Sherlock!"

That got his attention, Sherlock jumped and nearly upset his drink. He straightened himself haughtily and looked down at John.

"What on Earth are you shouting for?" he rumbled, blinking at him reproachfully.

John rolled his eyes. "Sherlock, Just for once in our lives, could we go out somewhere _without_ it being linked to a murder?"

"This isn't linked to a murder," said Sherlock, looking even more confused, "Well it could be a potential murder, I haven't quite worked out what motives there might be in play at this time-"

"Shut up," snapped John and took a moody sip of his beer. Sherlock did. Though the man's eyes flicked over John's face, seeming to calculate the exact nature of his mood.

"Oh... I see. But you... you like solving crimes with me."

"Yeah, but-"

"You like adventure. You'd get bored just hanging around at a bar, surely."

John sighed. "Yeah, alright. Maybe I would. I just thought tonight was for us."

"It is. That was just multitasking," quipped Sherlock, taking a long drink of his vodka and tonic.

The doctor couldn't help but chuckle slightly at that. "Fine. I s'pose I can live with that. You can buy the next round then."

"Happily. Business is concluded. Now our fun can begin," said Sherlock, giving John a small private grin.

John snorted and shook his head. "I'm definitely going to need a few more drinks if you're planning on taking me dancing tonight. God, I can't remember the last time."

"Hm," said Sherlock, sipping his drink again and looking pleased, "Neither can I. Though I have missed dancing. I took lessons when I was a child. Ballet. I quit when they wouldn't give me a tutu."

"Did you really?" asked John, face splitting into a wide grin.

Sherlock chuckled. "Indeed I did. My mother still has photographs she refused to burn. If we ever visit she might show you."

"I'd love that," said John, still chuckling and imagining a young Sherlock twirling happily in a tutu.

The detective smiled. "Well, drink up. By my calculations, you will need to imbibe approximately three servings of alcohol in order to loosen your inhibitions to dancing. I'm not making a fool of myself by dancing alone."

John smiled back and lifted his pint. "Cheers then, love. We'll have to see if we can't find you a tutu."

**Day 14: (Cute) nicknames for the gainer?**

"John. I do believe... we're drunk."

"You deduce good, Sherlock."

They were wandering home, giggling, and still feeling pleasantly buzzed.

"And you dance _well_, John," said Sherlock with a grin.

"Shuddup. Don't fix my grammar when I'm drunk," laughed John, nudging into Sherlock's side so they both staggered several feet off course. Both of them snickered a bit more at that

"But if I dance _well_ then you're, you're the dancing queeeen,"sang John, perhaps slightly off key.

"'M the what?"

"Dancing que-No! The dancing detective!" exclaimed John, coming to a halt. He swayed and held up his hand as if he felt that attempt at alliteration deserved a high five. Sherlock snorted and grabbed it instead, then lead them home. He had a mind to keep an eye out for a cab as well, though it wasn't far.

"That's lovely, John," said Sherlock, smiling, "Thank you. You can be the dancing doctor too."

"Thanks. You're gorgeous too you know," added John, "Always were, but 'specially now."

"Because you're drunk?" asked Sherlock.

"Noooo... cuz you're getting podgy, Gorgeous," said John emphatically, reaching over with his other hand to poke Sherlock's tummy with a finger. "Belly."

Sherlock flushed with pleasure. "Really think so? Think I'm getting podgy?"

"God yeah," said John, giving the belly in question a squeeze, "Even-even chubby 'n fat. So soft and sexy, Sherlock."

"Mm..." purred Sherlock, deciding the flat was a bit too far away. He needed to kiss John right now. So he did. He pushed John into an ally, stumbling and leaning up against the brick for balance.

"Sher- what?"

"Mmm..." Sherlock repeated, crowding into John and pressing hot sloppy kisses to the man's mouth.

John chuckled but kissed back enthusiastically, grabbing Sherlock's hips to pull him closer his hands wandering up  
Sherlock's hips and sides.

"Yess..." breathed Sherlock, arching his back to press his plump stomach against John more fully, "Feel how soft... and stuff."

"Mmmph, getting heavy," panted John in return, squeezing at the man's love handles, "So much of you, needs touching. Love you like this."

Sherlock groaned and nibbled at John's neck, rubbing his belly against John's as the man whimpered.

"God," grunted John, throwing his head back, but then adding, "Sherlock. Sherlock wait, we can't do this here."

Sherlock pouted and sulked John further against the wall. "Why not? S'fine."

"Nah let's get home first."

"Why?"

"Ice cream."

Sherlock's eyes lit up. "Oh!"

John chuckled and grabbed Sherlock's belly, jiggling it a bit. "Mm, thought you might like that, Podgy."

"I _do_ like that," said Sherlock with wonder, groaning as John played with his belly.

"Good. Let's get home then, c'mon," said John, giving Sherlock a gentle nudge, "C'mon you great lump. Can't move when you're squashing me."

Sherlock sighed and moved aside, then took John's hand again and they wandered off home.

"I want loads of fudge 'n whipped cream on mine, John," he said, "Wanna feel really full."

"Anything you like, love."


	8. Day 15

_**Day 15: FREE**_

John heard the door below slam shut, then a heavy tread on the stairs. He closed his laptop and turned to greet his detective. Today, Sherlock had deemed 'Shezza' ready and had gone to apply for a gym membership at the fitness center. The case was officially on.

"Hey Sherlock, how was-blimey!"

Sherlock was huffing slightly, his belly expanding and contracting and pulling one of Shezza's shirts up. He was looking distinctly red in the face and his messy curls were sticking to his forehead.

John chuckled slightly. "Didn't take it easy on you even though it was your first day, did they?"

"No," said Sherlock, flopping down on the sofa, "The owner, Mr. Geoff Carlson, he seems to enjoy putting people through hell. He was observing today. As I knew he would. I think I managed to get on his personal list. I made sure Shezza was feeling particularly lazy today." He patted his belly and rubbed it slightly. "Trouble was, _this_ was really very distracting," the detective continued, "Jiggling like mad as I was made to run, shifting... bouncing even."

"Yeah? That does sound... distracting," said John, wetting his lips. Sherlock smiled, turning his head to gaze lazily at John.

"I was feeling quite hot. Not just from the exercise. I may demonstrate later," he rumbled, then pulled himself up to sit with a grunt, "For now, I think a shower. And if you could order a Pad Thai, rissoles, and one of those coconut cakes I like, that would be most appreciated. I'm starving." He stood and ambled towards the bathroom.

"What aren't you supposed to have a diet plan too?" asked John, fishing out his mobile regardless.

"Of course I'm _supposed_ to," called Sherlock over his shoulder, "It's just that Shezza doesn't follow directions very well. I need to keep the weight on."

John chuckled and dialed the number to their favorite Thai place.

This pattern continued for about a week, Sherlock coming home from the fitness club in the evening and then proceeding to gorge himself on take away until his stomach was full and round and jutting over his waist band. John had to wonder how long it would take for the owner to finally snap and take the more desperate measures. Sherlock assured him it was a matter of days now. Then he requested that John kindly pass him another custard filled doughnut.

Finally that day came. Sherlock burst into 221B, a small bottle held aloft even as his belly continued to heave. "Got them!" he said excitedly, "Bastard finally gave up on dear Shezza ever managing his appetite. Now! I need to get to Bart's to get a proper analysis of these little beauties." He chuckled and tossed the pill bottle up in the air before catching them again. "Clever to use an old bottle. Legitimate brand. All natural, harmless, but perhaps not effective. Here, John, have a look. I'll change and be right out."

John caught the bottle Sherlock threw at him and looked it over. He opened it and shook a few pills into his palm, rolling them in his fingers. They looked innocent enough. But then again most medications did. He didn't recognize these by shape or color however. He turned the bottle over. The active ingredient was supposed to be a green tea extract, but John was ready to wager that was far from the truth.

Sherlock emerged, showered, shaved, and just barely squeezed into one of his more generous suits. The trousers looked ready to rip at the slightest provocation. John was astonished that they didn't tear as he knelt to do up his shoe laces. Sherlock swung on his coat, popping the collar and looked to John, still smiling excitedly. "Well then, shall we?"

"What about dinner?" asked John, tossing Sherlock the pills again and pulling on his own jacket and shoes.

"Dinner can wait," said Sherlock dismissively and turned to sweep out the door. John followed, feeling oddly disappointed.

Once at Bart's Sherlock, with Molly's help was able to isolate the actual active ingredients in the dodgy diet pills. They contained a duet of illegal substances, Cytomel and Cynomel, which could even produce muscle wasting if used improperly. They even had an addictive component. It was quite likely several of Mr. Carlson's 'favorites' could be permanently harmed or even killed by them. Sherlock swiftly rang Lestrade and called him in to collect the evidence. He then contacted his client and informed her of the dangers of the pills her sister had been given and advised medical attention, just in case.

Finally, all was wrapped up, it was late, and Sherlock and John were headed home. They stepped out of the hospital, squinting into the gathering darkness.

"Well done, love. Thank God that idiot didn't actually kill someone," said John, yawning slightly. His stomach growled faintly. Or had that been Sherlock's?

"Mm, yes. Very fortunate. Now wonder Miss Hadley's sister experienced such negative symptoms. She must have gone through withdrawal after his last dose ran out," mused Sherlock, frowning as he lead the way home. He stuck his arm out to hail a cab, then got in. John followed.

Sherlock gave the driver the address, then sat back and laid a hand on his soft belly. "Well, case is solved. Time to bid Shezza a fond farewell."

"Oh. Yeah," said John, feeling distinctly disappointed. He masked it with a chuckle as best he could, then slid a hand over to discretely touch the soft warm flesh as well. "I suppose it will be soup and salad until you're back to normal."

"Mm, and boxing," said Sherlock, gazing out the window. He jumped slightly as he felt John's hand smooth over his belly. He looked over at his doctor. He knew John well enough to understand what that twitch of the lip meant. He slid his hand over John's and pressed it against his fat, encouraging him to take a handful. He hummed softly as John did, then bit his lip.

"You know... I did just solve a case. I rather think that deserves a reward, yes? One... one last hurrah. Shall we?" suggested Sherlock tentatively.

"Please," said John, his expression softening, his smile more genuine. "Shezza needs a proper send off I think."

"I agree. Angelo's?" murmured Sherlock.

"Perfect," said John with a nod. He gave their new destination to the cabbie, then sat back. He didn't have much of an appetite anymore. Not really. Though Angelo's food could usually coax an appetite out of anyone. Tonight was no different. Two glasses of wine and a plate of chicken marsala in, John was quite happy just to watch Sherlock stuff himself so full of garlic bread, lasagna, and tiramisu, he was in danger of getting stuck in the booth.

"That's it, Gorgeous," John slurred softly, leaning in to kiss Sherlock's cheek as he lifted another bite of the dessert. "Eat up. You're so beautiful. You deserve this so much."

Sherlock merely groaned and opened his mouth for more.


	9. Day 16

_**Day 16: Keeping a picture diary.**_

"Here. John, hold this a moment," said Sherlock, passing him a brilliant gem set in a very old looking ring, "Try to get some photographs of that signet ring. All angles. This would be easier if we could take the thing with us." The detective glowered at Lestrade who raised his hands in apology.

"Sorry, Sherlock. But you said it was immensely valuable. And it's the property of who ever Dr. Patel named as his successor. We could get in real trouble if I let you take that," said the Detective Inspector.

"I'm not going to keep it," sniffed Sherlock dismissively. He knelt however to inspect the unfortunate Dr. Patel again. He grunted softly. His trousers were still far tighter than was comfortable. The weight hadn't been dropping off very quickly. Fortunately, neither of them seemed to mind. John might even have been relieved when his lover's appetite remained strong.

John caught Lestrade's eye and shrugged, then brought the ring over to a corner of the room that was well lit. He found the camera icon on Sherlock's phone and selected it. He set the ring down and lined up the screen to make sure he got a good amount of detail. The recent photo at the bottom of the screen caught his eye. That was Sherlock, certainly, in profile...

John pressed it and felt his mouth go rather dry. His suspicions had been correct. It was Sherlock, posing in front of the mirror, standing sideways with a hand on his very round belly that was pooching out over his trousers. The look in his eyes was dark, his lips slightly parted. That had to be recent then. He flicked back. A slightly slimmer Sherlock, though still chubby. Back again. Sherlock with just the beginnings of a little belly. A slightly fleshy Sherlock, then a slim one. God, had he really been that thin before? John felt his stomach clench pityingly, looking at the ribs and sharp bones. He flipped forward again and Sherlock filled out a bit more, bones and angles becoming smooth plains instead. John swallowed and went on to the next picture where a belly appeared, the lines became cushy curves in wonderful places. Another photo, definite rounding. He moved through the photos again and again, watching in adoration as Sherlock swelled and grew. He focused on a different body part each time. The belly creeping further and further out, starting to soften and sag. The hips round and push against the man's pants. That delectable arse growing more and more voluptuous as flesh was added. His thighs thickened and plumped, his arms to a lesser extent. His chest broadened. God, even his cheeks and jawline filled now that John had the opportunity to notice.

"John, are you finished yet? I need to take these samples to Bart's," said Sherlock's clipped case tone over his shoulder.

John jumped and looked around at his detective guiltily. "Er, sorry... not exactly."

"What do you mean? You've been over-oh." Sherlock fell silent and John noticed a red flush creeping into his cheeks.

"I. Erhem. You were keeping track, yeah?" said John, deciding to hand Sherlock's phone over to him hastily. The man took it and quickly exited out of the photos, then stepped over to photograph the ring himself.

"Yes, well. Had to be sure it was... convincing," mumbled Sherlock, his cheeks even redder and his face hidden. "I hadn't meant for."

John smiled and squeezed the man's shoulder reassuringly. "Love, you have absolutely nothing to apologize for, trust me."

"Perhaps, but it is rather-rather..."

"Hot as hell," breathed John, "God, it was like you were just _growing_ and _growing_. All of you just getting bigger and fatter every time I flicked to a new picture." He felt Sherlock stiffen and shudder. Then the man turned to look at him. The look in his eye made it clear the case wasn't remotely on his mind anymore. John watched a pink tongue moisten those very plump lips.

"Well," Sherlock purred, "I think I might need your trained medical eye to take a look at these with me."

"In the gent's loo at Bart's?" John asked, with a bit of a chuckle. There was a flash of challenge there though.

Sherlock's mouth dropped open and he slid a finger across his lips instead.

"Hm. If we make it so far."

John smirked and led the way out of the room. He felt Sherlock looming over and crowding into him every step of the way. That belly felt downright sinful against his back. He suddenly began to doubt that they would make it to Bart's as well.


	10. Days 17 & 18

**Day 17: Meeting old friends/family._ I decided to go with Sherlock's canonical parents. But then I made up John's in my personal headcanons for them._**

Sherlock and John had been together for quite a long time now and both of their parents were clamoring to have them come visit. Well, Sherlock's parents were clamoring. John's were more or less mum on the matter. But as John's father's seventy-fifth birthday was approaching and Harry was back, it seemed they were due for a visit.

He was extremely nervous as they drove out the morning of. Sherlock seemed to fidget a bit too from where he was sitting behind the wheel of the car, one Mycroft had supplied them. They were both rather quiet. Sherlock kept throwing John glances, but all John said in return was navigation information. Finally, they pulled up to the small house, that looked only smaller for the years he'd been away.

"I'm just going to apologize in advance," said John, rather curtly, sliding out of the car and standing as straight backed as if he were in uniform.

"If you insist..." said Sherlock, looking confused and probably quite concerned. John steeled himself and knocked.

A gray haired man with John's eyes and a bushy moustache answered the door. He was slightly taller than John, but Sherlock felt he recognized his lover's build in the man and felt an odd surge of affection for him.

"Ah, John, good to see you," said Mr. Watson, reaching out to shake his son's hand in an oddly formal manner, "And you must be that detective he's always going on about, Dr. James Watson. Pleased to meet you."

Sherlock shook the man's hand. "Yes, Sherlock Holmes, as I'm sure you already know. You're a doctor as well then."  
"That's right," said Mr. Watson, visibly puffing with pride. "We Watsons are a long line of very good doctors. Honorable military men as well. It's in the genes, dear boy. Although I see you've let your military training slip a bit there, John."

John flushed slightly, but kept his postured stance as his father's eyes roved down to his middle and then back up to his face.

"But then, age happens to us all! I am myself a prime example," laughed Mr. Watson, patting his own middle which was only slightly rounded itself.

"Yeah, happy birthday, dad," said John, clapping his father on the shoulder and walking inside. Sherlock smiled awkwardly and was swift to follow after John, keeping very close.

"I like it," he murmured softly enough that only John could hear.

"I know," sighed John, though he felt a bit heartened.

It turned out just about as awkward as John had feared. Harry didn't end up showing, which he couldn't blame her for. Unfortunately that meant Sherlock got the brunt of his mother's passive aggressive comments. She was a short, stout, woman, her hair still long and bristling as ever, though now gray instead of auburn.

"It is such a shame though," she'd sigh dramatically, "I was hoping to be a grandmum by now, I had hoped one of my children might have managed that. But ah well." John stirred his tea as aggressively and loudly as he could in response as Sherlock looked at his lap. He was trying to be good, for John's sake. But he was sincerely doubting that that woman made up half of his John. Mr. Watson did try to diffuse the tensions, though, despite his often ill guided attempts at humor. Sherlock had also noticed that the plate of biscuits Mrs. Watson had brought out with the tea had somehow disappeared again. At the very least there was cake. But that too was whisked away and policed by their host. The clock struck four, and John was quick to stand and make apologies.

"Work at the surgery, tomorrow. Sorry," he lied. Sherlock practically leapt to his feet as well.

"Of course. Thank you for stopping, if you talk to Harry, tell her to give us a ring. There's a good lad," said Mr. Watson, giving them both a casual salute in fairwell. John returned it half heartedly and Sherlock nodded. Then they drove off again. John was very quiet for a while, but he looked lost in thought and Sherlock couldn't think what he was supposed to say. The sun started setting soon. Sherlock felt hunger curling in his belly but didn't want to break the silence in case he said something wrong.

Finally John stirred, drawing a deep sigh.

"Yeah, sorry. I did say they were a bit-"

"I love you," Sherlock murmured, cutting John off and looking over at him. The ex-army doctor stiffened, blinked several times, then looked over. He reached over to take one of Sherlock's hands, letting the other stay safely on the wheel.

"I love you, too."

Sherlock's parents were an entirely different story. Mrs. Holmes welcomed them both with open arms.

"Ooh, Sherlock! It's been too long! And you must be John! Sherlock has told us so much about you," she exclaimed, hugging them each in turn. She was a truly lovely woman, John thought. He felt an odd twinge when he saw that Sherlock shared his mother's eyes almost identically. Sherlock's father stood off to the side, then stepped forward with the warmest of smiles and embraced John as well.

"Ever so fond of the blog, Dr. Watson," he said, "Helps us keep tabs on what our youngest is up to these days. Good to know someone is keeping an eye on him."

"Well, I try to," said John, smiling back and chuckling slightly. Wow.

"Just look at the pair of you," continued Mrs. Holmes, still positively bubbling over with excitement, "You look wonderful. It's about time someone found out how to make Sherlock eat properly."

"Mum..." said Sherlock, blushing bright pink, "It was for a case! I'm in the process of losing it, actually."

"That's nice dear," said Mrs. Holmes, patting his shoulder and then bustling indoors. "Well come on in then, you two must be hungry after that drive. I've just pulled some Bakewell tarts out of the oven."

Sherlock groaned, still looking embarassed. His father smiled and gave his son's arm a squeeze.

"You look _healthy_. and happy. The both of you. Now come, I'd love to hear some of the adventures that don't make it to the blog!"

John took Sherlock's hand and the two of them followed Mr. Holmes inside. There was a truly impressive tray of tarts on the small oaken table. Mrs. Holmes waved at them to be seated and then brought them all tea and fussed over them as they talked. Sherlock felt warm and content indeed as he ate his way through every tart that made it to his plate. He wasn't even sure if they came from his mother's side or John's but they were tart, perfectly crumbly, and sweet. John was talking animatedly to his father, retelling one of their cases. Sherlock interjected now and again if John was exaggerating things too ridiculously. When the time came to leave, both were feeling full and sleepy. Mrs. Holmes insisted that they should stay the night, but there was business to be done in London.

They were quiet as they drove home, though the atmosphere was markedly different this time. John reached over to smooth his hand slowly over Sherlock's thigh. Then it slipped to Sherlock's belly and unfastened his trousers. The detective sighed as his pastry-filled stomach could relax.

"Ah, that is better, thank you."

"Of course, love," said John, sitting back and sighing as well. Then he giggled.

"What?" asked Sherlock, feeling suddenly defensive and exposed.

"Nothing," mumbled John, then caught Sherlock's expression. "Nothing to do with that. It's just... Your parents are so... _ordinary_."

"You were expecting them otherwise?"

"Yeah, actually," chuckled John, "At least for you to live in a huge old mansion with servants and butlers and the whole lot."

Sherlock snorted. "Sorry to disappoint you."

**Day 18: Popping a button. _Personal favorite. So I did more than one button. teehee._  
**

At last, Sherlock and John were home in London once again. Night had fallen during their drive and it seemed both were looking forward to settling down for an evening before getting back to their respective work. Sherlock shrugged off his jacket in the hall and yawned, stretching elegantly. John smiled softly as he caught sight of a round well-fed belly pushing out as the detective arched.

"Maybe I should try to see if your mum would let me have the recipe for those Bakewell tarts," said John, winking at Sherlock. Sherlock looked down at his rounded tum and patted it with a chuckle of his own.

"I am supposed to be dieting," he said, ruefully, but there was a fondness in the caress of those long fingers as they traced the shape of his gut.

"Start again tomorrow," suggested John with a chuckle as he hung up his jacket and stepped closer, "I can see why Mycroft had so much trouble dieting growing up. God, your mum can bake! How did you resist?"

Sherlock smirked, and turned to face John, sliding his hands down the doctor's sides to bring him closer. "I was quite chubby as a child. The weight dropped off as I grew older and then went away to boarding school. None of the cafeterias had sweets as good as my mother's."

"God, I should have asked her for a picture while we were there," said John, smiling and stepping closer, his own hands wandering to squeeze at Sherlock's love handles. He couldn't help to feel slightly forlorn at the thought that these cushy bite-able things were soon to be gone again. Not tonight though.

"I'm honestly surprised she didn't fetch the baby pictures. Though also immensely relieved," murmured Sherlock, smiling lazily and arching into John as those expert doctor's fingers kneaded into him. Then he smiled even wider as they became belly to belly. Sherlock's was full, naturally, but John had certainly enjoyed himself too. Well, if they were starting the diet again tomorrow...

"Do you know... I think I'm feeling rather peckish," mused Sherlock, with feigned innocence as he dipped his head to nibble at John's lip. "A pizza or two should take care of that. Shall we?"

John, already feeling quite enticed by that round belly pushing into his own, huffed a breath and then looked up. He wet his lips. "Best make it two."  
Sherlock smirked and kissed his lover again, then lead the way upstairs. John went to get the number from the slip on the refrigerator and ordered while Sherlock flopped onto the sofa to wait.

"Breadsticks too if you please!" he called. John bit his lip to keep from embarrassing himself over the phone and added an order of those as well. When he returned to the living area, he saw that Sherlock had done up his trousers again. The detectives bulging stomach looked seconds from winning the battle with the button.

"Wha- Aren't you uncomfortable like that?" asked John, coming to sit beside Sherlock and reaching out to slip a couple of fingers in the waistband. It was an incredibly tight squeeze. He tugged lightly and Sherlock groaned.

"Y-yes," answered Sherlock in a breath, his head lolling slightly frown where it was resting against the back of the sofa, "But that is rather the point. I had an idea."

"See how much you can torture your trousers before they finally give in?"

"Precisely. I don't know about you, but I've always found the thought of... bursting out of my clothes... really rather appealing."

"Jesus..." breathed John, his hand slipping up to rest atop Sherlock's belly. He licked his lips. "I-yeah. I see what you mean. Maybe we should find you another shirt."

"This one is-"

"A _smaller_ one."

In the time it took for the pizza to arrive, John had managed to find one of Sherlock's slightly smaller shirts that he was willing to part with. The man was now positively oozing out of his clothes. He should look ridiculous, but John couldn't stop staring. Sherlock seemed to be enjoying himself too. His head was thrown back again, eyes closed and lips parted, as his hand circled his gut again and again. His legs spread and stretched out so that he slouched even more. He perked up when John came tramping upstairs with the pizza.

Then they were eating. John paced himself, already quite conscious of the fact that he was full of sweets but Sherlock plowed into the meal as if there was no tomorrow. Well there was a tomorrow, with a diet plan in effect so perhaps it was for good reason.

Slice after slice, bite by bite, passed between Sherlock's lips, punctuated by soft groans or requests for a drink. John simply supplied him more, watching with building arousal as he _swelled_, pushing out against those poor buttons, stretching the fabric tightly. They should win a medal for holding out this far, thought John wildly, gaping as wide as Sherlock's shirt was. The trousers looked painfully restricting. John reached out to rub at Sherlock's tum and the man positively whimpered.

"You're doing so well, love."

"John, more. I need more."

More pizza, then the breadsticks. Sherlock was panting and slouched against the sofa now, his swallows becoming drawn out and slow. His eyes had been closed as if the restrictive feeling of his too small clothing was too much stimulation to take anything else. John traced his fingers around the man's belly, touching pale stretched skin that appeared between buttons. Sherlock moaned and forced down another bite.

"Are you alright?" John asked, concerned as his lover winced.

"Tight," Sherlock huffed, his fingers shaking as he reached down to heft at his poor pinched belly, "Oh God... John, I feel-I feel so..."

"Full?"

"_Fat_," Sherlock moaned, cramming another bite into his mouth and swallowing. He hiccuped and then cried out as his body jostled as a result. He asked for a drink and John gave it to him. Then there was a loud snap, a clatter somewhere across the room and what couldn't be described as anything other than a yowl from Sherlock as his belly was finally free to bulge and expand into his lap.

"_Fuck_, you're incredible," John snarled, positively throwing himself at Sherlock with bruising kisses, his hands grabbing at Sherlock's gut. Sherlock writhed and moaned into his lover's mouth, then gave a small burp. Several small pops announced a few more buttons that had given up the fight.

"Oh, oh God..." Sherlock moaned, looking down at his belly and cupping the side of it as if he wasn't sure it was real.

John reached down to rub it as well, kissing under his detective's jawline. "Looks like you'll be needing some new clothes there, Podgy."

Sherlock groaned wildly and tried to rut up into John, but his belly seized sharply and kept him in place. He winced and slumped back, breath coming shallowly and swiftly. He shuddered as his belly groaned, then let out another belch.

"Hummph, John... Mind helping me get to bed? I-I think I need to digest a bit first."

"Of course, Sherlock," answered John, reining in his own screaming arousal and giving Sherlock a gentler kiss. He helped a huffing and groaning consulting detective to bed, astonished at how bloated he seemed to become as the clothes were removed. They rocked together gently once Sherlock's stomach was settled, then settled down to sleep. Tomorrow the diet started. John fell asleep, his hands drawn around Sherlock's overstuffed belly, feeling guilty that he wished they would be going to buy a new larger set of trousers instead.


	11. Days 19 & 20

**Day 19: Unintentional gain?  
**_Hmm... John shall be my victim!_

The week that followed seemed to imply that it was John, not Sherlock, who might need to invest in roomier trousers. The detective was doing quite well, eating in moderation and taking up regular exercise. John supposed he should be grateful that Sherlock hadn't just decided to completely stop eating, that he should be happy to see him still eating with a good appetite... but somehow he missed watching Sherlock eat wildly and with abandon. The night with the pizza had only seemed to make it worse. He'd looked so _alive_ and frankly fucking gorgeous... surely he had enjoyed it as well.

But no. Salads with low fat dressings, vegetable laden soups, lean meats, rice, fish and chicken never fried. Sherlock was eating well enough, a balanced normal diet, just less than he had been shoveling down. John both hated and envied the man's self control. He found himself almost eating more to compensate for Sherlock's reduced portions. He couldn't load seconds on his lover's plate anymore so he put them on his own and ate until he was full. He took to baking to try to temp Sherlock's indulgence, but the goodies were always accepted with a fond thanks. He only ever ate what was reasonable. John found himself returning to the pie tin, or cake pan, or the plate of fairy cakes again and again. It was almost as if he were eating what Sherlock couldn't.

Finally, a few weeks into the new regime, John couldn't live in denial any longer. Nor could he live in his usual trousers. He tugged fruitlessly at his jeans, trying to close them over plush new hips and what had definitely grown to earn the title of ' his gut.' He growled and did his best to suck the poochy flesh in, then pulled hard at the stubborn fabric. It nearly met, but then John had to breath and his stomach denied the button and its hole their union. He sat down on the edge of the bed, frowning down at his middle that was looking decidedly doughy. He pressed a few fingers into it experimentally, his breath catching as they sank into the soft inches of flab that had made their home under his skin. He pinched a fold under his navel, rolling it between his fingers, mesmerized by the sight of it, the softness... Jesus...

Next came panic, welling up in his chest as if his lungs were filling with it and trying to push it out his throat. He threw himself back on the bed, determined to ignore the way his belly jiggled with the motion. Laying flat on his back, he pulled in his diaphragm and abdominals as hard as he could. He wrenched at his trouser hem. The button popped through. John panted shallowly, then did up his zip. He let go and felt the waste band gnaw brutally at his softened figure. He groaned in frustration, glaring down at his gut where it bulged up, round and proud as you please, beneath his rib cage.

How the hell had this happened? Well, he couldn't exactly say that he hadn't been making a right pig of himself lately. It seemed as if his habits had swapped from fasting when stressed to binge eating for weeks at a time. John sighed and rolled over so that he could get up from the bed without bending to much. His trousers were really restricting his movements. He must have gained in his thighs and arse as well. Oh God...

John wandered out to the bathroom and faced his reflection. No. He could not go out like this, even with a jumper. He slid his hands to his flabby love handles that were creating quite an extraordinary muffin top. He tried to stuff the fleshy shelf into his jeans a bit more but the waistband was hopelessly tight. His hands slid to his belly unbidden. John swallowed as he jiggled it.

"Fuck. Fuck fuck fucking shit fuck," he groaned, casting his eyes heaven-ward as if God himself might rid him of the extra weight. He sighed and frowned even more when he saw how that motion caused his gut to expand even further for a moment. The bathroom scale caught his eye. He bit his lip. Well, best see what the damage was. He steeled himself, fists clenched and back straight, shoulders squared, then stepped onto it.

"Shit."

**Day 20: Highest amount of weight gain for a pairing?**

"John?"

John nearly jumped out of his skin at Sherlock's voice, he looked wildly around for the means to cover himself but he hadn't brought a shirt with him. He hastily stepped off the scales.

"Want to give me some warning in future?" he snapped, turning resolutely towards the toilet so he wouldn't have to look at Sherlock or his reflection. He felt he could see Sherlock's frown of puzzlement.

"We've been intimate," came a soft rumble, and John heard Sherlock's soft tread on the bathroom tile, "Since then, neither of us have expressed a need for boundaries in-"

"No, well maybe I just need some today," said John shortly. He felt a real idiot now, standing in front of the toilet as if ready to take a piss, but not undoing his jeans. He wasn't sure he could get them done up again.

"John," came that ridiculously low rumble again, "What's the matter?"

The doctor didn't reply. He stiffened as he felt long fingers close softly on his hips.

"Is it this?" murmured Sherlock, his fingers not squeezing or kneading, just rubbing at those thickening lovehandles slowly, carefully.

John still didn't move. Sherlock's hands slid forwards, along the too tight waistband, to John's front where they followed the dip of John's new gut as it pooched over the hem. John felt heat rise in his face as Sherlock began caressing that as well.

"Uh, I might've-I'm just," began John, shaking his head angrily before drawing a long breath, feeling his _gut _expand into Sherlock's gentle fingers, "Yeah. Okay. I gained a bit of weight. I don't know why but I've been stuffing myself silly these past few weeks. I hate it, but I couldn't seem to help it." He swallowed and blinked a few times.

"Are you under stress from work?" asked Sherlock, his breath a warm puff against John's neck. There was a soft wet press of lips there and John tilted his head for more contact.

"No. I mean, I'm a bit stressed, but... but not from work. I don't think," said John, with a guilty sort of sigh, "Look, I'll take up jogging again. It's not your fault."

Sherlock's lips left John's neck a moment, his hands freezing on John's softened belly.

"Oh," murmured the detective, then resumed rubbing, "You're worried about my diet... and weight loss?" The last words sounded uncertain, odd to hear after Sherlock's deductions which were usually firm and brimming with self-confidence.

John shrugged. "More like your eating," he admitted, "It's selfish, but I like seeing you with a healthy appetite and a belly. I worried almost constantly about you when you were rail thin and went without food for days on end."

Sherlock nuzzled into John's neck. "I... I am sorry. I didn't think I or my habits could effect you so profoundly."

"Surprise," said John, dully.

"Hm," hummed Sherlock, drawing himself closer to John, letting the man feel his still present and soft belly pressing up against his back, slotting neatly into the curve of his spine. "If it helps, I wasn't intending to lose it all. I've rather found I like... having a bit more of myself around."

The detective gave a rumbling chuckle and John felt his heart leap.

"That's... that's good. Yeah," he said, leaning into Sherlock's warm presence. "I like it too."

"Good. My feelings incidentally also apply to you. So by all means, join me boxing or jog a bit. But don't you _dare_ get slim on me, John Watson," Sherlock growled, nipping at a spot on his doctor's neck that made the man's breath hitch. "Agreed?" He kneaded at the soft belly in his hands.

John smiled and turned in Sherlock's embrace to press his belly into Sherlock's. "Agreed," he said, then kissed him. Sherlock hummed appreciatively and pulled John closer, hands now wandering down to explore plump hips and arse.

"Out of curiosity," murmured Sherlock, "How much had you gained, love?"

John chewed his lip. "Since... the beginning of all this. I'd say, almost two stone."

Sherlock hummed thoughtfully. "Lovely. I think that puts the two of us together at an increase of seven stone total. Perhaps we ought to invest in a new bed," he teased, hugging John to him fondly.

"Oh shut up," snapped John, though he was laughing, "It's not that much!"

"No," said Sherlock, also smiling and running his hands all over John again, "It's just enough. For now, of course. Once I retire... who knows? My appetite may prove _colossal._"

John's spluttering was immediately stopped with a long tantalizing kiss.


	12. Day 21

_**Day 21: Waddle-comments.** I went a little off prompt with this one. Hope no one minds. haha  
_

John and Sherlock decided to go out to dinner for their anniversary. They didn't celebrate when they had first begun dating as it seemed as if those emotions had just built the longer they lived together. Instead, they celebrated the date of their first meeting. The day that had been the turning point in both of their lives, saved them both in different ways, and begun this mad adventure. The 29th of January was a day neither of them would ever forget.

So, they headed to a fancy restaurant that Mycroft had begrudgingly recommended. John wet his lips, checking his pockets and shifting in his suit. It was still quite tight, though he had managed to drop a bit of the weight he'd piled on during Sherlock's experiment. The detective on his arm was also smartly dressed, but had been forced to purchase a new suit. He had clung on to quite a bit more. His belly was still present, rounded gently out beneath his formal wear. His tailored trousers stretched over amble bum and rolling hips. He looked spectacular, better than ever. The years with John had done him some good.

They were lead away to their table, sat and got comfortable, then looked over the menus. John felt a combination of thrill and intimidation as he looked it over. 10 courses. He hoped that the portions were small. He glanced over at Sherlock and saw the man wetting his lips, eyes shining with excitement and hunger. Well, even if he couldn't finish, maybe Sherlock could have the rest of his.

For the first course, John chose some light crispy bruschetta with ripe tomato and basil. They only seemed to leave him hungry for more as he sipped at his water and watched Sherlock adventurously swallowing down oyster after oyster. The sight of the slick innards being tipped into his lover's mouth, then swallowed down, the pale throat working, was oddly erotic. John found himself wanting to just lean over the table and kiss him as Sherlock grinned and licked his lips.

The second course was a choice of Consomme Olga or Cream of Barley soups. John took the former, while Sherlock opted for the richer option, humming indulgently as the thick creamy soup slid down his throat.  
"Shut up," said John, giving Sherlock a crooked sort of grin over his own bowl of broth.  
"Whatever for, John?" purred the detective, lapping the soup from his spoon. "Mmm..."

Third course was poached salmon in a Mousselline sauce with a side of fresh cucumber. The delicate vegetable seemed to enhance every bite of fish that came between them. Both Sherlock and John were humming after that dish.

Fourth course. Sherlock opted for the Filet Mignon without hesitation and John went along and joined him. The meat was juicy and so tender it seemed to melt on the tongue. The heavy red wine it came paired with was the perfect foil.  
"God, that's terrific!" John moaned, sitting back and looking at his cleared plate wistfully.  
Sherlock hummed and slid closer in the booth, reaching over to rub at John's stomach which was feeling warm and content, though not just full yet. John smiled and reciprocated, leaning into Sherlock as they waited for their next course.

For the fifth course, Sherlock had chosen the lamb in a mint sauce with new potatoes and John took the roast duckling with a side of rice. By the end of this course, John was feeling decidedly full and Sherlock was looking a touch rounder.  
"Mmph, halfway there," John said, muffling a small burp and then chuckling. The idea that five more courses awaited them was a bit daunting.  
Sherlock groaned softly in agreement, rubbing at his belly. "Oh, God, I'll be waddling after this," he huffed, then grinned. John smiled and waved over the next course.

Thankfully the sixth was a Punch Romaine cocktail to cleanse the palate. John found it a bit odd, but Sherlock eagerly consumed his and then offered to take the rest of John's. Of course the doctor let him.

The seventh course consisted of roast squab and cress. John tugged at his waist band, trying to settle it beneath his full stomach. Sherlock looked downright blissful as he brought fork after fork of the squab to his mouth, his other hand slowly rubbing at his rounded belly where it pushed out against his waist coat. John felt his mouth go rather dry. He quickly signaled for the eighth.

It was cold roasted asparagus in a lemon vinegrette. John was grateful for the lighter dish, feeling really quite full. Sherlock plowed through it all without slowing then slouched back in the booth, his fingers trembling slightly as they ticked down over his stomach.  
"You're doing so well, love," John murmured, allowing his hand over to rub at the detective's stomach.  
"Mm, you too," he smirked, then slid his long fingered hand to John's middle.

For the ninth course, John barely managed his celery, merely picking at it as Sherlock devoured his foi grais before collapsing back against the booth again. It had to be rich, thought John, patting his lover's tight constricted belly soothingly.  
"One to go, Podgy."  
"Dessert... I don't know if..."  
"Of course you can."  
Sherlock snorted, smirking at John, "I know I can. I was merely wondering if I'll be able to move afterwards."  
"You're unbelievable."  
"Thank you."

The final course Sherlock didn't even try to sit up for. He just laid back and opened his mouth so that John could feed him the chocolate and vanilla eclairs from both their plates. The detective whimpered through flaky pastry and sweet fluffy filling, his belly rounding and rounding under the restricting waist coat.  
"Jesus, Sherlock, just look at you." John murmurs. Sherlock flushes and squirms as John rubs his belly.  
"S-so full, John, God!" he grunted, tugging at the waist coat as it rode up, exposing plump round belly that was pushing out more and more as John fed him.  
"We need to get you home and out of this, don't we? Can you even walk?"  
"Probably, if you can call it walking... I'm so... so fucking round I'm going to be waddling out of here. Maybe you'll even have to roll me."  
John groaned and crammed the last of the eclairs into Sherlock's mouth. The detective swallowed, hiccuped, then groaned in kind. He looked ready to split a seam.  
"Ready?" asked John, licking his lips. Partly out of nerves.  
Sherlock huffed a breath, then looked at John. "No. There's still... Give me the rest of your water." He held out a hand and John passed him the glass, eyes warm with love.  
"Marry me?" murmured the doctor.  
"Of course," said Sherlock, smirking and then chugging down the rest of the water. There was a snap as his trouser button burst.


	13. Day 22

_**Day 22:Christmas **__**Dinner.**_

It was odd for John to think that the last time he had been this excited for Christmas, he had probably been about six years old. They were both wearing rather horrid Christmas jumpers, gifts from Mrs. Hudson that morning before she had dashed off to her sisters. John smiled softly as he noted Sherlock's belly rounding out steadily underneath the Christmas tree pattern as the man ate and ate. After Mrs. Hudson had left, Sherlock had declared that Christmas was not a holiday that included any sort of restricting trousers. He was therefore now in nothing but a jumper and a pair of dark purple pants.

John had pulled out all the stops this year to celebrate their first Christmas as an engaged couple. They were soon to be newly weds of course. They'd settled on a one year engagement. January the 29th was swiftly approaching yet again.

Therefore, John had pilfered and wheedled every recipe he could out of both Mrs. Hudson and Mrs. Holmes. The result was a kitchen table positively groaning under a roast turkey filled with a delectable stuffing, thick creamy mashed potatoes, pigs in bacony blankets, a rich bread sauce, mince pies, sprouts, parsnips, and roasted chestnuts. Sherlock had looked absolutely astonished upon being offered such a spread.

"Have I told you, John, that I absolutely love you?"

"Once or twice yeah."

Now Sherlock was steadily making his way through a plate of seconds that has been heaped as high as his first plate, humming and groaning in between bites as he ate himself silly. John could hardly bear to look away, though he was making good progress on his own plateful. Sherlock at last cleared the lot and then swallowed down a hearty swig of mulled wine. John was about to offer him pudding when the detective instead dumped another heaping mound of mashed potato onto his plate and drowned it in bread sauce.

"Mmmph. This is excellent, John, tastes just as my mother's always did."

"Good, I'm glad," John beamed, "You enjoy yourself, love."

Sherlock hummed in agreement and devoured his plate of thirds with just as much gusto as before. Then he sat back, belly round and pooching over his pants under the Christmas jumper. The detective rubbed at it idly, humming, his eyes closed blissfully.

"Good?" asked John, sitting back as well and sipping at his mulled wine as he watched Sherlock lovingly.

"Very."

"Time for pudding then?"

"Mm, yes please."

This too was a masterpiece, drenched in brandy and lit aflame as was customary before serving it. Then he gave Sherlock a heaping portion and took a more reasonable amount for himself. He poured them each a cup of eggnogg as well.

Sherlock positively groaned as he took his first bite and then began muscling more into his clearly overfull stomach. He was slouching more and more, his belly getting only rounder and larger as the meal wore on. He showed no sign of stopping however. John thought him absolutely magnificent.

Finally, the last of their feast was gone and John had helped Sherlock lumber to the sofa to stretch out and digest, the Christmas jumper's stitching now looking strained and riding up over pale bloated flesh. John had remained behind, clearing up the dishes a bit, figuring Sherlock could use a nap. He felt warm and complete, knowing Sherlock was well sated and cared for by him.

"John?" came a soft call. The doctor answered it as usual.

"Yeah, Sherlock? Need anything?"

"No, it's just. I think I see a package we overlooked earlier," murmured the detective, his eyes warm and dozy from all the food even as they flicked to the fireplace. "There, that small stocking at the corner. The tip is weighed down."

John stepped over and fetched it, sticking his hand into it and withdrawing a small square box.

"Open it," Sherlock breathed, his voice slow and calm, husky.

John did, then smiled broadly. "Wow, Sherlock. These... these are amazing."

He pulled one of the rings from the box to admire it's pleasing form, simple and shining in silver.

"I had them custom made. There's an engraving, but also a small saw blade. In case we get into another tight spot," continued Sherlock softly, "Do you like them?"

"I love them," said John, his own voice going quiet as he sat down beside Sherlock, sliding the rings together in one hand. "I love you."

"Mm, that's lucky. We are to be married after all," said Sherlock, grinning up at John.

"Shut up," the doctor replied with a giggle. He set the rings aside and interlocked his fingers with his detective's. He kissed the man's lips gently, slowly. John's other hand moved down to rub at Sherlock's distended belly, trying to soothe and settle it. The man squirmed slightly, whimpered softly in response.

"Merry Christmas, Sherlock."

"Mm, and a happy new year."


	14. Days 23-25

**Day 23: Honeymoon.**

Just under a month later, John and Sherlock were married. In some ways it felt as though nothing at all had changed.

They decided on Paris, France for their honeymoon. Sherlock teased John relentlessly (but fondly) about being both cliche and hopelessly romantic. John just told him to shut up. As usual. The upside was Sherlock's perfect French and knowledge of the cuisine, so John was sure they'd be eating well. He also hoped it would be touristy enough that there wouldn't be any cases that would suddenly call Sherlock's attention. This was their honeymoon damn it, and hell if John wanted to be working for any part of it.

As it turned out, the location was perfect. Sherlock had done his homework, settling them in a hotel that was the perfect walking distance from many fine restaurants and cafes. Their balcony offered them an excellent view of the city and was near a few of the more popular attractions. And the room service was top notch.

They spent their days wandering the streets, either at random or slowly crawling from restaurant to restaurant, or snacking at crepe stands outside of museums or other attractions. They had agreed to not worry about anything regarding diet or waistline until they returned to London, so both indulged, wheedled an extra bite into each other and spent the majority of their days feeling really rather full.

They would collapse onto their bed at night, feeling sleepy and sated. Then Sherlock, who always seemed to eat the most, would groan and pop open his trouser button. Each day it seemed to require less and less for it to release. Then the detective would sigh contentedly and allow one eye to slide open, a smirk to curl the corner of his mouth. A long fingered hand would begin idly rubbing to bloated flesh, push up the increasingly tight shirt to reveal more and more poochy tum. A finger might trail and dip into Sherlock's navel, tugging lightly at its walls as it rose and fell with the man's increasingly heavy breaths.

"John-"

The detective hardly ever managed to get any further before a certain doctor was quickly ravishing every inch of him, kissing, nibbling, biting, and mouthing at the growing softness, at lips, at throat. Sherlock would quickly be reduced to shuddering moans.

Every morning, after a husky confession from Sherlock one night, John would bring out the tape measure. He'd string it around Sherlock's middle, pressing into the softness of his stomach, then his bum and hips. He'd then breath out the new number as Sherlock shuddered. Some days that's as far as they made it, their plans to explore scrapped for another round of sex and then room service. Sherlock had become particularly fond of the wide array of petite fours. Or maybe it was just the way John would place tiny pastry after tiny pastry on his tongue and rub his belly as it filled and expanded.

But then they both also loved the fresh crepes, the baked Camembert, the veal ragout, mussels in white wine sauce, soupe a l'oigan, cheese souffle, desserts to rich and various to mention. Oh yes, they'd both be returning to Baker Street much heavier, softer, and quite a bit rounder.

**Day 24: Love Goes Through the Stomach.**

It was then the last day of their honeymoon. They had grown bored of Paris, finding each other much more interesting of late. They spent the day lounging around on their bed, talking, kissing, touching. Room service had been ordered several times as was evidenced by the array of plates scattered on the floor around them. Currently, they were making their way through a rather large and decadent tray of fresh strawberries with all sorts of delicious additions: sugar, cream, chocolate, hazelnut spread, and many others.

John picked up another of the plump red fruits, then trailed it through the melted and excellent chocolate. He slid it through cocoa powder then presented it to the detective's lips. They parted lazily to let the next bite in, teeth sinking into chocolate, then ripe juicy fruit to pull it from the green stem in his doctor's fingers. Sherlock hummed as he chewed slowly, letting the flavors mix and flow over his tongue. He swallowed and opened for more. John couldn't rightly explain or describe the thrill that gave him. He quickly prepared the next morsel, dragged through cream and then swirled in sugar. Another hum, another swallow, another languid pat of fingers on a round and swollen stomach. They had both deemed clothing too tedious for the days activities and so Sherlock's belly was entirely on display, creamy soft skin laying carelessly among the pristine white sheets, punctuated with dark hair, dusky nipples, and pink lips.

"Mm," Sherlock murmured again and John was quick to feed him more. He allowed himself to run a hand down Sherlock's bulging middle as the man chewed.

"Getting full?" he asked, grinning softly and rubbing a slow circle around the detective's navel.

"Hmmph, hardly," the man replied, then gave a rumbling chuckle, "Why? Am I boring you?"

"God no," John replied, laughing as well and leaning in to press a lingering kiss on Sherlock's belly.

"Good. Can I have another? One with white chocolate and chopped hazelnuts if you please."

John complied, wondering idly how he had been so lucky as to marry this gorgeous man. He gave that lovely belly another pat and Sherlock let out a belch followed by a soft moan. The doctor smirked and rubbed lazy circles over the bulge. They might have started out with an undeniable attraction to one another as if the universe would slam the two of them together in a hundred worlds. But somehow this, the simple giving and taking of food, the quiet care that came with ensuring the other's existence with sustenance, that was what John was sure had started it all. Well, Sherlock had taken John to dinner, seen his hunger when no one else had. And then John had wheedled bite after bite into the man even when he initially refused. They cared for each other, looked out for the admittedly peculiar at times eating habits they seemed to adopt. It was all fine in the end.

John suddenly realised Sherlock was watching him, smiling gently.

"Oh, sorry, love, I was just-"

"Thinking," supplied Sherlock fondly, grunting as he shifted to sit up a bit more. "It's perfectly fine. What about, if I may ask?"

"Just... us, I guess," said John, smiling and fetching Sherlock another strawberry, "And thinking that old saying's true enough."

"Which one?"

"Love goes through the stomach."

Sherlock took the next strawberry and laughed heartily. "Yes, I suppose it does, although... love may go through the stomach, but it seems to linger on my hips."

"And your bum."

"And belly."

They chuckled and kissed warmly, John humming at the sweet flavors that lingered in Sherlock's mouth. The kisses grew steadily more insistent, Sherlock tugging at John. The doctor happily complied, straddling the detective and dipping his back to rub their middles together teasingly. Sherlock huffed a moan, then burped and flushed. John giggled and began nibbling along his jaw as Sherlock's embarrassment gave way to a small shy grin. Then they were rocking, huffing, limbs entwined, arching and rutting into every sensation until they were both spent on the bed once again, dozing lightly.

Yeah, thought John, they'd be together no matter what, pulled together like two opposing charges, as certain as any other law of the physical universe. Thank God he'd finally realised that before he lost him for good. He couldn't imagine their lives any other way.

**Day 25: AU!**

_Doughnut shop. In honor of the day. hah!_**  
**

Sherlock Holmes, food critic and pastry connoisseur, rolled his eyes and let out a long sigh. He allowed his long lean legs to slip off the desk.

"I've told you before, Gavin, I don't _do_ cheap slop," he snapped, standing to let himself out of his editor's office.

"It's _Greg_!" snapped Mr. Lestrade, looking exceedingly grumpy behind his dark rimmed spectacles. "After all the trouble I go through to keep you here. You haven't written an article in months! Look, Sherlock, you're brilliant, your stuff's the best, but the Editor in Chief can't hang on to someone who doesn't bring in articles consistently."

Sherlock sniffed, tucking his chin petulantly into his navy scarf. "Perhaps if I were sent to more distinguished establishments I would write more," he returned coldly.

Lestrade raised his eyes to the ceiling. "Perhaps if my buttons were made of gold, look. It's a matter of budgeting. You're not the only critic we've got on. Just... just be a good chap and go to this 'Donut Hole in the Wall' place, dash off a couple thousand words and be done with it."

Sherlock sighed again, looking distinctly put upon. "Fine. Don't be surprised when that caloric dumpster ends up closing after my article's published."

"Good man," said Lestrade, clearly not listening past the first word. He heaved his bulk to his feet and clapped the skinny man on the shoulder. "It's right on Baker Street. Good eh? Sort of fits. It's one of those irony things." The editor stuffed the paper with the contact details into Sherlock's fingers and then waddled back to his seat. Years of writing and reading about the best restaurants in town had clearly left their mark on the editor. Sherlock doubted that he himself would ever be so enamored by food. He preferred the science of the composition behind each dish through preparation and then presentation. He wanted a surprise with his meal, a mystery, but all it ever seemed to take was a precursory glance before he could guess exactly what the meal would taste like. Boring. And then wouldn't eat another bite from the plate. Several of the most successful chefs in London absolutely despised him for it. He only wished they would try harder. Create something that would do their craft proud.

It was just noon so Sherlock decided to nip over to the Donut Hole. He always liked arriving anonymously the first time, simply to breathe in the atmosphere, experience accurate customer service. He already had the address memorized. The shop was just down the street from his flat where he was living alone. He'd always said he was a hard man to find a flatmate for. He strode past the building, hands buried deeply in the pockets of his sweeping black coat. Ah, here it was. It certainly looked like a hole in the wall. It was a small place, easily overlooked. A neon sign declared it open besides a sign that proclaimed "Donut Hole in the Wall: Home of London's Finest." Sherlock smirked. He'd see about that.

The small shop was well lit and kept clean. The decoration left something to be desired. Oddly reminiscent of an army mess hall. Sherlock sniffed and was immediately accosted by the fatty smell of doughnuts frying, almost sickly sweet. Still, the hot molten smell seemed to make a home in the critic's belly, waking the stomach to an enticing prospect of food. Sherlock sniffed again, more slowly this time. Promising, but then, smells were often so deceiving. He stepped up to the counter and looked over the doughnuts already on display in the glass case, several kinds iced and labeled with different fillings or toppings. The woman ahead of him finished paying for her box and left, the bell on the door tinkling to signify her absence.

"Hullo. What can I get you?"

Sherlock looked up from the confections he'd been inspecting. He straightened and folded his arms behind his back taking in the proprietor behind the counter. He was a rather small man, but broad shouldered and fit behind the plain black apron, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to keep sanitary. His hair was a sandy blonde, eyes a warm blue over a politely smiling mouth with thin lips.

"Coffee. Black. Two sugars," replied Sherlock.

The man behind the counter raised his eyebrows. "All this way for a coffee, mate? Didn't see anything you liked? I can always cook up anything that isn't out," he offered, even as he turned to prepare Sherlock his drink.

"Just coffee, thanks," said Sherlock loftily.

"Suit yourself."

The critic accepted his coffee, paid and then stood sipping it as the proprietor wiped off a counter.

"This shop is privately owned."

"Yeah," answered the blonde man, even though it hadn't been a question, "I opened it when I got back from Afghanistan."

"You're a soldier."

"Was," corrected the proprietor, leaning on the counter, "Got shot and shipped home. I spent a lot of time working in the mess hall though. Cooking seemed to help with the PTSD so Donut Shop seemed a good idea." He smiled and shrugged. Sherlock stared. The way he spoke, so casually...

"Must have been hard," said Sherlock slowly. He drained the rest of his coffee and turned to look around the restaurant again. "Injuries, violent deaths."

"Enough for a lifetime," agreed the proprietor with a sigh, then a soft chuckle. "Hence the doughnut business."

"Clearly," agreed Sherlock, binning his cup, "Thank you. Tell your boss, the owner, I'll be by tomorrow." He strode towards the door.

"Wha-why?"

"The name's Sherlock Holmes. London's finest food critic. Afternoon." With that he swept out, heading back to his flat for the evening. He would need to try to do some research, gather knowledgeable about the food he would be tasting. How they were made, what was typical... He stayed up late through the night and made himself a cup of coffee. He had to wonder why the one the man at the doughnut shop made him earlier seemed to have been infinitely better.

Sherlock pocketed his usual notebook and pen the next morning, then wandered down the street to the shop. He passed a large man in a suit on his way in, carting away a couple boxes. Two elderly women sat chattering in the corner over coffees and two cinnamon coated pastries. Sherlock strode on past them to the counter.

"Hello again," he drawled to the blonde man, "Boss here yet?"

"Yeah, he should be," answered the ex-soldier, "In just about five seconds. Oh yeah, here I am. Can I help you, Mr. Holmes?"

"Ah, you're the sole employee?"

"Yeah, like to keep things personal. John Watson," he said, holding out his hand. "I looked up up on the internet last night. You've got quite a reputation. Don't know what you're doing in my little shop."

Sherlock took the man's hand and shook it. _Me neither, _ he thought, but decided not to pronounce that out loud.

"Now then, what does London's finest food critic want to try first?" asked John, stepping over to the shelves of doughnuts. "The Danishes are pretty fresh. And I have a couple black currant filled ones. There's even a new sort that's a bit of an experiment I'm trying out."

Sherlock tilted his head, considering each one. He sighed. Ordinary, dull. "What was the new sort? The experiment."

"I've got a couple," admitted John, a smirk sliding onto his face, "Feeling adventurous?"

"Certainly. Bring me a plateful and a coffee." The critic swept over to one of the tables and sat down, shrugging off his coat and steepling his fingers underneath his chin as he waited.

John arrived with the donuts moments later. "And here's your coffee. Black two sugars." The man sat down, arms crossed on the table as he smiled expectantly. Sherlock sat up haughtily and took them in. They certainly looked curious. He cocked his head and selected one, bringing it to his mouth, smelling it first. It looked an ordinary doughnut, but there was something unusual in the smell. His lips parted and he took a bite. His eyes widened in surprise. Sweet, but with salt. Salted caramel? No, something... something. He quickly chewed and swallowed the bite, taking a mouthful of coffee. Then he tried it again. The same, a sweet slightly sticky doughnut, but that enticing saltiness, a bit greasy perhaps but, decadent, fascinating. He suddenly realized he'd eaten over half of the pastry. John was grinning, looking smug.

"Give up?"

"Never," Sherlock replied shortly. He closed his eyes and popped the last bite into his mouth, palate sorting out the flavors slowly, familiar... fatty... bacon. Sherlock's eyes flew open.

"A _bacon_ doughnut?" he spluttered, looking aghast that such a thing had passed his perfect lips.

John chuckled. "Come on, don't pretend you weren't enjoying it. It's quite a good seller actually."

"Certainly... out of the ordinary," said Sherlock, his tongue sweeping the inside of his mouth. Somehow the salt and sweet had paired perfectly. Savory rich, yet lighter than air. He drank more coffee, then turned back to the plate. He picked up another, admiring the oddly tinted icing that was nearing a brownish purple as it fell over the ring. Grape would be disappointingly obvious. He lifted it to his mouth, then huffed in surprise. Bourbon. Unmistakably. Delicious. But what else. He took a few more bites, chewing thoughtfully. Blueberry. Yes, those were in there as well and... a spice. He frowned.

"Basil," supplied John, nodding, "It's a bit different, but it works I think." Sherlock only hummed in agreement and ate more of the pastry, savoring how each flavor flowed over one another.

The last doughnut. Sherlock considered it thoughtfully. Simple in looks, a white sugar glaze over top, rolled in chopped pistachios. He lifted it to his mouth bit in. The critic positively moaned with delight. Lemon and pistachio. Genius!

"Good?" asked John, beaming as the man devoured the sweet.

"Perfection," grunted Sherlock, licking his lips of every last crumb, "I may well be in love."

John chuckled again. "Good thing I have a few more of those around then. My treat. Just a mo."

By the time Sherlock left the doughnut shop that day, dark had fallen outside and his belly was so completely stuffed that his shift buttons were gaping around it. He tumbled into his bed and lay back lazily rubbing his hands over his overstuffed belly. God. Never had he enjoyed food more. The company wasn't bad either.

He smiled and rolled onto his side with a grunt. Yes, he'd be seeing much more of that John Watson and his doughnuts in future. Thank God it was just down the street.


	15. Days 26 & 27

_**Day 26: Birthday Present**_

John awoke one morning the the tantalizing smell of cooking bacon. He sat up and looked over at the empty side of the bed in surprise. Of the two of them, Sherlock was more likely to have a lie in these days. Especially if he had eaten well the day before. John smiled. Maybe he'd just been feeling hungry. They hadn't had any cases on lately, so Sherlock had turned back to what he termed an 'Experiment in Eating and It's Effects.' The result was that the detectives shirt buttons and trousers, even a couple sizes larger than his original ones were gaping again. The doctor chuckled softly to himself and rolled over, reaching for his mobile to check the time. There was a message in his inbox that read simply:

_Stay in bed - SH_

John smiled and settled back against the headboard with a yawn and a stretch that made his shoulder pop. It seemed he wouldn't have to wait long before he had a softened Sherlock to cuddle up to again. Good. That was a grand way to spend a Sunday morning in his book. It seemed a while since they'd done it last.

Sure enough, just a few minutes later, the sounds of cooking from the kitchen stilled. There was a soft general clattering and then Sherlock emerged in the doorway, bearing a large tea tray loaded with breakfast.

"Happy birthday," Sherlock rumbled, looking oddly shy, hopeful perhaps.

"Oh wow, Sherlock! Thank you," John replied, taking in the food and smiling at his husband. "Need a hand?"

"I can manage."

Sherlock carried the tray over to the night stand, then scooted up onto the bed beside John before lifting it over and putting it carefully between their legs. He handed John his tea with a kiss, then took his own. John looked down and smiled. A full English complete with bacon, kippers, eggs, toast, fried tomatoes, and beans. But only one plate of it which was odd.

"Are we sharing?" asked John with a grin, setting his tea on the side table to pull the tray closer.

"No, it's all yours," replied Sherlock, "I'm only having toast."

"Oh not that ruddy diet thing again," said John sounding pained, "It's my birthday! You can enjoy yourself. You look amazing."

"Not a diet, no," continued Sherlock calmly, "I'm simply... saving room. For later."

John felt a small smile tug at his lips. "Oh? You've got something special planned then?"

Sherlock smirked and gave his husband a wink. "Something very special. But eat your breakfast. You'll be needing your strength for your first gift of the day."

John chuckled and pulled the tray towards him and tucking in. "Am I allowed to guess? It's not a case is it?"

"No, it's _your_ birthday, John."

"Right, of course," murmured the doctor, still grinning. He ate a bite of egg, feeling really quite intrigued. "Can I have a hint?"

"Mm," purred Sherlock, pulling his dressing gown off one shoulder. John nearly choked. Something black and frilly was just in view. John immediately began wolfing down his breakfast while Sherlock munched nonchalantly at his own toast.

Finally, eating was done with and Sherlock took John's plate where it would be safely out of the way. Then the detective slid off the bed and wandered away from the bed a bit, John watching his rounded arse roll and shift under the dressing gown. He wet his lips.

Sherlock let the dressing gown fall, revealing a tightly knotted black corset, his cushy love handles squashing out the bottom of it, a little lip of belly visible in front where it bulged out over the skimpy silk underwear he had chosen. They might have been ladies panties, but honestly, John couldn't picture them on anyone but Sherlock now, even as the detective's plump arse stretched them mercilessly. They were clipped to garters which pressed into his soft milky thighs and then clipped again to some rather attractive hose stockings.

"You're approval Captain?" purred Sherlock, turning to look over his shoulder.

"Fuck... Get over here!"

The doctor's husband smirked, then slunk onto the bed to slip into his arms. Then John was pressing his fingers softly and gently into every plump inch of his gorgeous and well-fed detective. He undid the base of the corset and Sherlock let out a small gasp of relief as his round podgy belly flopped out again. John groaned and pulled Sherlock closer by the hips to kiss and nibble at the newly exposed flesh.

If this was only Sherlock's first surprise, John was pretty sure the big one was going to kill him.

_**Day 27: All-You-Can-Eat**_

Sherlock had given the cab driver an address the doctor didn't recognise. John was positively buzzing with excitement, trying to get an idea by looking out the window. He had picked up a few tricks from his husband though. He had noted that Sherlock had chosen his roomiest set of trousers and done them up with a belt. That certainly was promising.

The cab pulled up outside a restaurant John wasn't sure he had even known existed. A brightly lit sign proclaimed cheerfully "Great China Buffet: All You Can Eat!". John blinked. Well it wasn't the place, one usually took one's partner to. But then their partnership was anything but usual.

"We're, er, eating here then?" asked John, looking over at Sherlock who was digging out his wallet to pay the cabbie.

"Mm, yes. Chinese is by far my favorite and I know you enjoy it too. I also happen to know, that you enjoy seeing me... indulge," answered Sherlock, the last word sounding like it had been dipped in chocolate. John swallowed.

"Ah, so that's the reason for the belt and trousers then?" he said with a bit of a smirk.

"Precisely. I shall eat whatever you place in front of me tonight," murmured Sherlock, leaning in to kiss John's cheek. "Happy birthday."

"Oh, God..." Happy birthday to him indeed. Then suddenly Sherlock was gone and John was left to rush after him.

Once inside, they were lead to a booth near the back at Sherlock's request. They ordered their drinks, shed their coats and went in search of their first plateful. The tables were oriented around a large well-lit floor wherein counters upon counters stood loaded with food, steam rising in tendrils from the fresh varieties supplied. There were a couple of cold tables too, loaded with desserts, fruits, and even one with fresh seafood such as shrimp or scallops. A large counter at the end held fresh sushi rolls, arranged neatly on platters to be taken. John just looked around, suddenly feeling really quite hungry despite a full English, lunch, and a good helping of red velvet birthday cake. He heard a small growling noise over the babble of other patrons and the workers who dashed to and fro with more food to refill the emptying dishes. The doctor chuckled when he realised it wasn't his own stomach.

"Hungry then?" he asked, grinning.

"Starving," corrected Sherlock, with a small grin of his own. He looked oddly shy, but then he always seemed to creep into himself a bit in public.

"Right, well, let's start with the hot food then, yeah? I think I see some of that shrimp and peapods you like," said John helpfully, taking a plate and pushing it into Sherlock's hands. The detective wet his lips and went in pursuit, loading up a heroic amount alongside a heaping mound of rice and two, no three, eggrolls. John helped himself to the steamed pot stickers and some very fine noodles to start, taking some stirfried vegetables alongside. First plate loaded, the two returned to their seats.

"Cheers!" said John, raising the glass that had been set out for him. Sherlock raised his in return and took a drink. Then he began to eat.

John managed to keep pace with him for the first two plates, but he found him slowing on the third. Both were plowing through a mountain of battered pork smothered in sweet and sour sauce. John at last threw in the towel.

"Okay, if I'm having dessert, I need to stop now."

"Suit yourself," said Sherlock, tugging John's plate over to him and plowing through that as well. Then he sat back with a muffled burp. "Though, I do think the time has come to let my belt out a few notches. Sherlock reached down, there was a few rustling clicks before the detective sighed and rubbed at his middle.

John chewed his lip, sipping at his drink. Sherlock copied him with a teasing light in his eyes. He kept gulping down the soda even after John had stopped, emptying the glass. He burped softly into his fist.

"Hmmph, pardon me," the detective drawled, his smile positively wicked, "John, dear. Care to bring me another plate? There was some rather fine sushi if I recall."

John realised he had been holding his breath and left it out in a long rush. "Yeah, okay," he said, smiling in kind and getting up from the table. He was feeling pretty full himself, but experience had taught him not to doubt Sherlock's capacity. Least of all when the man had planned ahead. John picked up another plate and wandered to the sushi bar. He didn't know what half of them were actually called, but he did his best to pick some interesting ones. Some with orange sauce, some with a shrimp tail on top, some stuffed with avocado or crab, others with odd fish. Then, plate loaded, he returned to his husband. He pointedly slid into the booth next to him, nudging Sherlock further in. The detective raised an eyebrow, but then understood as John selected a piece and held it carefully to his lips. Sherlock hummed and leaned in, engulfing the morsel in one bite and lifting it delicately from the chopsticks. He chewed, swallowed, then parted his lips for more. And John faithfully gave it to him, his fingers trembling slightly on the the chopsticks as Sherlock ate and ate. The detective's stomach began to round in earnest, expanding around all the food being pushed inside bit by bit. Soon they were nearing the end of the plate.

"Mmph, John..."

"Yeah?"

"Would you mind... loosening my belt a bit further? And-maybe rub-"

"Absolutely," John growled, kissing his lovers jaw and then moving over to get to the man's belt. He could feel Sherlock's belly, warm and tight with food, pressing out against the waistband, feel it push solidly against his hands.

"Oh, God, you're amazing, love," John breathed, managing to undo Sherlock's belt. The man grunted, wincing, but then groaned as his belly expanded to fill the new space.

"Oh, that-that's a bit better," he mumbled, letting his head fall languidly against John's as the doctor set to work rubbing at his husband's bloated tum through the increasingly tight shirt. Sherlock grunted again and let out a soft belch as John's fingers pressed and probed.

"Dessert?" John offered, playing with the bit of surface softness still present around the man's navel.

"Hm, not yet. Another plate first. With..." Sherlock smacked his lips, "Some of that honey chicken over fried rice and a half dozen crab ragoons. If you would be so kind."

"Jesus," breathed John, then laughed, "Don't hurt yourself on my account."

"John, I assure you. I can manage," the detective rumbled giving his bulging belly a pat.

"Al-alright then."

John returned with the plate, filled to Sherlock's specifications. The overfull detective merely took a glance, nodded in approval, then opened his mouth expectantly. John shook his head in admiration, then lifted one of the crunchy cream cheese and crab filled ragoons. He slipped the entire dumpling into his lover's open mouth, then smiled as Sherlock crunched through it slowly before swallowing thickly.

"Oh," he breathed, cheekbones slightly pinked.

"Okay?" John asked, hesitating before picking up another one.

"Y-yes," Sherlock murmured, his eyes opening again, the pupils blown wide.

"You're getting full, I reckon. With all you already ate," said John slowly.

"Yes," admitted Sherlock, his eyes fluttering closed as John resumed rubbing at the detective's bloated stomach.

"But... you still want more?"

"Yes."

"You're fantastic, you know that?"

"Yes."

Sherlock smirked as John shook his head again, giggling this time. Then there were more crab ragoons, Sherlock demolishing each one even as his tummy twinged. John then picked up Sherlock's fork and began feeding him bites of honey chicken and rice. He followed each bite with a soft kiss as Sherlock's chewing became slower and slower, his swallows doubtlessly uncomfortable, his stomach doubly so. John did his best to soothe him, encourage him, kiss him. And Sherlock moaned softly, even whimpered. Then that plate was empty too.

"Good God," grunted Sherlock, looking down at his own middle in astonishment.

"Yeah, you're huge, Gorgeous," John supplied, spreading his fingers against the tight skin that seemed almost hypersensitive. The detective prodded it experimentally.

"Huh-n-not done yet though. Dessert."

"You don't have to-"

"I want to. Please, John." Somehow even stuffed and bloated, lips and cheeks flushed, Sherlock managed his perfect five-year-old pout. John gave Sherlock's belly one final probing rub, then got up from the table again.

He returned with small, round, light, sugary doughnuts, a small bowl of ice cream, some kind of strawberry cake, and several small yellow tarts.

"Don't worry, I'll help you with this one," said John, noting the way Sherlock's eyes widened slightly. The doctor took one of the tarts for himself, then unwrapped one for Sherlock, feeding it to him slowly. The detective's eyes slid closed once again as he chewed.

Another tiny tart for each of them, then a doughnut apiece. They shared the piece of cake and the bowl of ice cream. Sherlock's belly was rounder than John had ever seen it. He was almost afraid to touch it, but Sherlock seemed only to huff softly, head lolling as John rubbed it.

"There we go, all done. Thank you, love. Best birthday present ever," said John, smiling at Sherlock as one of the detective's eyes peeped open again. He slouched and groaned as he took in all the empty plates.

"God! Did I really-"

"Mmhmm," hummed John, smiling and kissing along Sherlock's jaw to his ear. "Well, most of it was yours. I had a few plates too, Podgy."

Sherlock positively moaned, his hands going to the stuffed mound his belly had become. "I don't think I've ever been this full in my life!"

"I wouldn't doubt it," said John with a chuckle, "But it's Chinese so you'll be ready for more in an hour."

"Oh God no... hurp," Sherlock burped into his hand, then chuckled, before the motion made his stomach cramp. "Ah! Hm, it appears I overlooked one sm-small detail."

"What's that?" asked John, trying to ease Sherlock's overstretched gut.

"How the _hell_ am I going to get out of this booth?"


	16. Day 28

_**Day 28: Holidays**_

It was a lazy morning at 221B Baker Street. John had the day off, Sherlock had wrapped up his latest case and was feeling lazy after a celebratory dinner the evening before. Now the two of them were just laying on the sofa, Sherlock on top of John, arms around his waist and face buried in the doctor's softened middle. The detective's own middle was poking out under his t-shirt and pressed idly against John's knee, the skin warm as Sherlock inhaled and exhaled softly against him. John had a book in one hand that he was reading, the other was buried in Sherlock's curls. To be honest the book wasn't really holding his attention very well, not with a gorgeous detective draped over him. He sighed and gave up reading after his eyes moved over the same paragraph for the third time. Sherlock stirred, and gave John's middle a squeeze, pressing his face in more deeply with a hum. John chuckled softly and laid his book aside, his hands coming to rest on his lover's shoulders instead for a little rub. Yes... what a wonderful holiday.

"Mm, indeed," rumbled Sherlock, making John realize that he had spoken aloud.

"Sorry, did I wake you?" John asked, ruffling Sherlock's hair in apology.

"Wasn't sleeping," Sherlock mumbled.

"Weren't you?"

"No..."

The detective butted his head into John's belly when the doctor dared to stop playing with his hair. He hummed as John renewed his ministrations.

"But it is a bit of a holiday for us, isn't it?" Sherlock continued, "We've been busy."

"Yeah. It's nice just to have a day at home with you once in a while," agreed John, "I like the cases, and running after criminals just as well, but I really needed today."

Sherlock grunted in agreement. John almost thought the man had drifted off again but then he spoke. "Imagine all the holidays we can take when we retire."

John chuckled and rubbed at Sherlock's scalp, silky black locks slipping through his fingers. "I expect it'll just be one long holiday."

"Mm, yes. But I had hoped we might travel a bit as well," said Sherlock, his eyes drifting lazily open as he tilted his chin up to look at his doctor, "Sample various cuisine. Grow fat in Italy, that sort of thing." He smirked, pressing his stomach up against John's leg, round and soft.

John suddenly found his breath catching. "That does sound good yeah," he agreed, smiling, "You do love your Italian."

"_Authentic_ Italian, John," Sherlock corrected playfully, "I won't be able to help myself. And I won't want to."

"Mm," John bit his lip, chewing it thoughtfully a moment, "We could stay there a whole month, work our way from top to bottom, make sure you get to taste everything."

"At least twice," supplied Sherlock with a chuckle, "I might have to purchase some new trousers while we're there."

John shifted slightly under his lover. "Hah, and we could always revisit France for some old favorites."

"Yes," agreed Sherlock, pressing himself further up against John, "And Spain while we're near for Paella, Spanish tortillas with everything, and Sangria."

"Mm, that sounds delicious."

"I have every confidence that it will be," Sherlock chuckled, then went on, "Then perhaps a trip through Scandinavia for as many shrimp sandwiches we can stomach, and layer cakes loaded with whipped cream. Then through Germany, hopefully in time for a good beer. You'll love that. Greece perhaps for proper gyros. Further east for kebabs... We could even visit Russia, China, India, Thailand, the United States, Mexico, roam as far as our stomachs will allow."

The detective wet his lips and slid a hand down to rub at his own stomach absently.

"Just think of it, John," he murmured, "Getting home from each, fatter than when I left. Every meal I sit down to my belly just grows... pulls against my trousers until I have to buy new ones. And then we visit a new country and my palate is stimulated all over again... ah."

Sherlock smirked and looked up at John, who was looking a bit flushed. "I see I've peaked your interest," he rumbled, a devilish glint entering his eye as he bent to kiss at his doctor's stomach, lips moving slowly and hungrily down it towards the bulge that was growing in John's pajama bottoms.

"Yeah," breathed John, watching as though mesmerized as Sherlock kissed lower and lower, "I think you might've. Sorry, its just tha-you. If you ignore it, it'll just-"

"John, I have no desire to ignore it," the detective purred, a hand sliding up John's inner thigh, making him twitch. "And I'm very glad to see that you are as enticed by the prospect as I am." He shifted and pressed himself against the doctor. John swallowed at Sherlock's very tangible arousal.

"Mm, good," sighed John, feeling heat coil and build in his stomach in response.

"Very good," corrected Sherlock.

"Do you always have to have the last- oh!" A very naughty lick completely erased the rest of John's sentence.

"Yes," replied Sherlock with a smirk before dipping his head to tend to his doctor once again.


	17. Days 29 & 30

**The final part of my Fatlock 30! Gosh, I never expected to get this far but it feels AMAZING! Thanks to any and all who kept reading day in and day out. Every like and comment kept me going. :) Also, this chapter ends in Sex. So very NSFW!**

**Day 29: Tummy Rubs**

"Mmph... God..."

"Good?" asked John, grinning and tossing his jacket aimlessly into his arm chair. They'd been out to dinner, trying a new Indian restaurant that had just opened. Sherlock had insisted that they needed to sample several dishes. And of course the detective had managed to do more than just sample. The result was that Sherlock was now really quite full as he slumped down in the center of the sofa, wriggling to get his trouser waistband away from his overfull tummy.

"Extraordinary," Sherlock hummed in return, reaching down to unbutton his trousers. His belly rounded a bit further, tugging gently at his shirt buttons, "Ah, oh we'll most certainly be paying them another visit soon. That naan was the most authentic I've tasted in years."

The detective grunted and belched softly, his eyes sliding closed contentedly. John smiled and moved over to sit beside his bloated lover.

"Yeah I think we will be," he said, chuckling and reaching out to pat Sherlock's stomach. The man groaned softly in response, arching up into John's touch.

"More, John," was the soft demand. John was more than happy to comply. He rested his palm on Sherlock's belly, then spread his fingers slowly, feeling how wonderfully round the man's indulgence had made him. He squeezed lightly, fingers sinking into the bit of softness that had grown under the man's skin. He could feel how full the detective was underneath it. He pressed a bit harder and Sherlock gasped. The doctor smirked and resumed his ministrations, lightening his touch and beginning to move in slow circles that got progressively larger and larger, sweeping across the expansive flesh, feeling it push out against the fabric of the shirt Sherlock was wearing. Then John rubbed slowly up and down over the bulge as Sherlock sighed, head lolling.

John slipped a couple of fingers into the gap between two buttons.

"Mm," murmured Sherlock encouragingly. John accepted the invitation, stroking the smooth warm skin underneath, then moves closer to undo his lover's shirt buttons. He planted a light kiss on every new patch of pale skin that is revealed as his fingers traveled down. Then he moved over to straddle the man's lap and Sherlock grunted before letting out a soft huff again. John grinned and kissed those plump lips, his hands moving down to either side of Sherlock's bulging tum and rubbing slow circles, feeling the mass shift slightly under his motions. Sherlock whimpered slightly into their kiss and John responded with a pleased hum of his own, then he sat back and gave the detective's belly his full attention.

His hands began to press into his husband's bloated stomach with more precision, rubbing smoothly around it but then focusing on tight spots. He rubbed and stroked, massaged to help soothe aches or cramps and to aide digestion. Sherlock groaned and burped gently once or twice, looking entirely in bliss as John continued his work. The doctor smiled and changed his position. Sherlock made a soft noise that might have been a whine as John moved off him, but that quickly became a moan as he felt a hot wet mouth pressing against his skin. Sherlock groaned loudly as John kissed and mouthed his way to the man's navel. the doctor then did some very creative things with his tongue as his hands continued to rub and caress at the detective's fattened and bloated belly.

"Ah-oh, oh God, John. You're amazing," he huffed, arching his back and pressing his overfull belly further into John's care.

"You're pretty incredible yourself, love," John replied, smiling and perching his head on the man's belly before nuzzling into it. "Mm..."

Sherlock smiled dazedly and let his hand move down to settle in his doctor's hair. John heard a small gurgling rumble from Sherlock's tummy. The detective belched shortly after and John chuckled, pressing a kiss to the pale overfull gut, settling down to use it as a pillow.

"Comfortable?" rumbled Sherlock lazily.

"Definitely," murmured John, continuing to trace small patterns over the skin as he closed his eyes for a bit of a doze. He jumped as he felt something on his own middle, but then smiled as he recognized his lover's long fingers. He giggled and shifted a bit as Sherlock brushed a ticklish spot. Sherlock chuckled, his belly bouncing softly under John's head. Then the detective slowed his motions and made them more purposeful to avoid too much tickling. John sighed, his tummy expanding warmly into his lover's palm. Sherlock squeezed and then it was John's turn to groan. Tummies, especially with a bit extra, were really quite a lot of fun.

**Day 30: Sexy Times**

John woke the next morning to the sun filtering in from the doorway. He grunted, shifting slightly under the covers. Everything felt so very warm. He'd been having the most wonderful dream...

His eyes flicked open, however, and a smirk crept onto his lips. Why dream when you could have the real thing? He turned over carefully, eyes tracing over his lover. His dark curls lay in a tangled mess on the pillow, eyelashes and cheeks perfectly still as he breathed slowly and deeply. John shifted closer still, a hand finding his husband's waist beneath the covers, then sliding down to rest on a round little belly that slowly expanded and contracted under his fingers. The man's shirt had ridden up in his sleep so there was warm smooth skin to explore where it bulged out over his pants. So soft. John began rubbing slow circles over the flesh. Sherlock's breath caught in his sleep, becoming a deep inhale. His mouth fell open, head lolling back as he pushed into his doctor.

"Huh-John..." he murmured, a small smile quirking his lips.

"Mmhm, morning, Gorgeous," John answered, pressing himself up against Sherlock even further, his tummy slotting into the dip of Sherlock's spine and pressing his groin against a round cushy bum. Sherlock grunted, his lips parting again, then his eyes fluttered lazily open.

"Oh," he rumbled, pupils dark, smile becoming even wider as he turned himself over to press into John in kind. John grunted as he felt the beginnings of an erection rub into his own. Then the detective's cushy belly pressed against John's and the doctor felt his need triple. He reached down to grope at his husband's bum.

"Hah! Good morning to you too," John panted, shifting and trying to rub his whole body up against his lover as he pulled him closer by the hips.

"Hmm... no clothes," growled Sherlock, tugging at John's shirt and then his own. The detective then pressed himself even harder against John, seeking the man's lips and kissing him heatedly. John groaned, his hands coming up to squeeze at Sherlock's waist, feel the slide of healthy layers of flesh and skin over the man's ribs. He couldn't even really feel those anymore. Sherlock cheekily took the opportunity to slip both hands down the back of John's pants, squeezing and rubbing as he pulled the briefs down. He hummed in approval, hands coming around to Johns front and seeking his hot hard cock. The doctor groaned as Sherlock's hand closed around him and started working slowly, teasingly up and down his length. Plump cupid's bow lips kissed along John's jaw to reach his ear.

"What do you think, John?" he growled, his breath puffing against sandy hair, "Shall I suck you off? Hm? Or do you want to fuck me?"

"God!" grunted John, arching into Sherlock. He reached down, fingers digging into plump love handles to steady himself. "Ride me," he ordered gruffly a moment later, his dark blue eyes boring into Sherlock's paler ones. The detective smirked, wetting his lips.

"Mm, yes sir."

John pressed his mouth to Sherlock's again, kissing deeper and deeper until the man whimpered and fell back, John crouching over him now. The doctor threw back the covers and they both shivered at the sudden change in temperature. John pulled off Sherlock's pants, eyes tracing the curve of his husband's cock a moment before leaning over to rummage for the lube.

Sherlock hummed and let his knees fall open, one long pale hand moving down to pump himself lazily, hissing as he smoothed a thumb over the leaking head.

"Hah... John..." he breathed, then smirked as John looked over at him.

"You're unbelievable," growled John, moving back over to kiss the man again, lube now in hand, then he slid back between Sherlock's legs. The man watched him with hooded eyes as the doctor began rubbing the inside of Sherlock's thighs. Long legs twitched as toes curled.

"I had a dream about you like this," he murmured, eyes flicking up to Sherlock as he lubed up a finger and then dragged it slowly across his husband's hole.

"Hm? Do tell."

"You were spread out for me, just like this," said John, applying more lubricant. The puckered hole beneath his finger seemed to flutter. "Only this," he kissed his lover's round tummy, "Was even bigger. I think you'd just eaten... quite a lot."

"Ah, so like last night then?" purred Sherlock. He gave a soft gasp as John pressed his finger into him. The doctor smirked, and started stretching him, pushing more lube in. Sherlock huffed, his fingers twitching against the sheets.

"More than last night," John said, his voice low and gruff, "And you were still hungry."

"Mm, sounds like a good dream," hummed Sherlock, smirking and laying back lazily, his hands wandering up to stroke and rub at his own belly. "I must have been big."

"Huge. And then I fetched you more pasta. And then more again. And again," said John, grinning and curling his fingers, two of them now, to stimulate Sherlock's prostate.

"Yeessss!" Sherlock whimpered, arching his back, his belly rounding out just a bit more. He hummed as he settled down again, still panting. John watched as Sherlock inhaled, blowing out his tummy, making the skin stretch and expand just a bit more.

"Yeah, just like that," John murmured, still working his fingers in and out of his lover as he prepared him. He leaned forward to kiss Sherlock's belly, nibbling at the soft flesh around his navel. "Mmm..."

Sherlock was panting and groaning now, thrashing a bit against the bed, his imagination clearly going wild. John felt his own pulse quicken in response.

"R-ready?"

"Hah-yes-god yes, please John!"

"That's what I like to hear," said the doctor, moving up to kiss Sherlock again. Suddenly long, no longer quite slim, arms and legs were wrapped around him. Then they tumbled sideways, Sherlock now on top. The detective rumbled deep in his throat, John could swear he felt it reverberate into his own chest as his husband crushed his body down on top of the doctor's shorter one.

"Oh, God!" John panted, feeling all that weight, all that soft consulting detective pressing down on him, the round chubby belly pushing and squashing against his own. "Hnng!"

"Mmm, yes," purred Sherlock, kissing and nibbling along John's neck before pulling back. He found the lube again quickly, then slicked up John's length while the man grunted, his hips churning of their own accord. Sherlock squeezed his fist tighter and tighter until- No, suddenly he was gone. John whined, momentarily confused. Then suddenly Sherlock was back, straddling the doctor's stomach, one hand reached behind himself, taking John in hand and guiding him into his slick tight hole.

Sherlock shuddered, his fist on John's chest clenching as the head of John's cock breached him. John groaned wildly and did his best not to thrust up too soon. God, every time... every time!

Then Sherlock let out a long huff, a bit higher in pitch than usual as he sank down on John's length, feeling himself fill. John huffed in kind, eyes fluttering closed as he was enveloped in slick, tight heat. He felt Sherlock flutter around him, and gripped the man's love handles.

"Ah-alright?"

"Fuck! _Move_."

And Sherlock did. John moaned, thrusting up in kind, up into that plush, luxurious arse that seemed to jiggle with every push. John felt another rush of arousal as he looked up to see Sherlock's belly bouncing along with the man's movements as he rode John's cock. Sherlock had his head thrown back as he rocked forwards and back, his hips working smoothly under the shifting flesh added to his frame.

"H-have to ask," the detective panted, still rocking against John even as he smirked down at him, "W-was this part oh-f the f-fantasy too?"

John grinned breathlessly back and let go of Sherlock's hips to grab and squeeze at his lover's belly instead. Sherlock positively moaned, his cheeks becoming tinged with pink.

"Yeah-yeah, your-your belly kept. Pressing ag-ag"

Sherlock seemed to have understood, because the next second he was groaning and pressing his middle up against John's belly as best he could without sliding off his cock. John cried out, swearing wildly, then tilted his hips to make the angle easier. They rutted together, hard and fast, Sherlock's cock trapped between both their soft bellies. John gave an extra thrust and squeeze of Sherlock's gut, then he felt the man clench around him and knew they were both gone for.

"J-John!"the detective bellowed, arching back, his limbs trembling as their stomachs were suddenly splattered with hot wetness.

"Shu-Sherl-ah! Hah! Fuck!" John's eyes were squeezed shut so tight he saw white as he felt his orgasm roil through him, ending in several pulses as he spilled into Sherlock.

"Oh-oh god..." he panted, eyes still closed. Sherlock groaned in reply and slumped down on top of him, John's spent penis slipping out of him, a dribble of cum and lubricant following after. They both laid there quietly, panting to get their breathing back to normal.

There was a low gurgling noise. John giggled.

"Shut up," grunted Sherlock, still refusing to move of his shorter lover.

John patted the man's side where his belly bulged out against his own.

"I think someone's hungry though."

"Physical exertions before breakfast do tend to have that effect," Sherlock informed him, though there was a warmth to melt the chill of his words.

John chuckled again, patting his lover's chub. "Well, come on then, I'll make us a scramble, yeah?"

"Hm, alright, although," the detective trailed off, then picked his head up to smile over at John. "Would it be too blasphemous to have pasta for breakfast? I find I have a... bit of a craving." His grin was suddenly positively wolfish.

John suddenly found himself quite breathless again, and it wasn't entirely to do with having a six foot detective draped over him.

"I-I think we can... bend the rules a bit," he said, wetting his lips.

"Hm, good," said Sherlock, pushing himself up to sit. He patted his stomach. "I find I'm rather hungry."

John smiled, watching as his husband walked off to the kitchen, stark-naked and fleshy form shifting with his gait. Thank God he'd taken that case all those months ago.


End file.
